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OUT OF THE SHADOW 


BY 




MAEY HUBBARD HOWELL 


Author of Through the Winter, On the Way Home, In After 
Years, and Along the Old Road. 


He satisfietli the longing soul. — Bible, 



THE AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 

1122 Chestnut Street. 

New York; 10 Bible House. 




Copyright, 1887, by 

The American Sunday-School Union. 


"J~F of this story I cannot say truthfully that — in 
every particular — ‘‘1 tell the tale as it was 
told to me/^ I can at least say that facts, as strange 
as fiction, have furnished me with a strong founda- 
.tion ; and so many of the incidents actually 
occurred, that imagination has done little more 
than piece together bits of truth/^ 

Mary Hubbard Howell. 

( 5 ) 



CONTENTS. 




Surprised 

CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

. 9 

Conquered 

CHAPTER II. 

. 26 

Opinions 

CHAPTER III. 

• ••••• 

. 42 

Discords 

CHxiPTER IV. 

• ••••• 

. 53 

Revelations . 

CHAPTER Y. 

• ••••• 

. 76 

Resolutions . 

CHAPTER VI. 

• ••••• 

. 96 

Plans 

CHAPTER VII. 

• • • • • • 

. 112 

School-days . 

CHAPTER VIII. 

. 136 

Solitude 

CHAPTER IX. 

. 162 


( 7 ) 


8 


CONTENTS, 


Strangers 

CHAPTER X. 

r.\GE 

. 177 

Suggestions . 

CHAPTER XL 

• ••••• 

• 

; 195 

Questions 

CHAPTER XII. 

* • • • • • • 

. 216 

Sermons 

CHAPTER XIII. 

• ^ • • • • • 

. 233 

Confidences . 

CHAPTER XIV. 

• ••••• 

. 251 

Conversations 

CHAPTER XV. 

• ••••• 

. 207 

Puzzles . 

CHAPTER XVI. 

. 286 

Discoveries . 

CHAPTER XVII. 

. 304 

At Last 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

• • • • • 

. 324 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

N 

CHAPTER I. 

SUKPRISED. 

‘^One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving why they do it ; 

And just as lamely can ye mark 

How far, perhaps, they rue it.” 

— Robert Burns, 

I T was early summer, and the day was one of 
those perfect ones for which June has been 
so often and so fondly praised. 

There were few clouds in the warm blue sky, 
few shadows resting on the low hills that shut in 
the little village of Hermitsville, and no sound, 
louder than the contented cluck of a mother-hen, 
to disturb the silence and peace of the old farm- 
house, that had been for nearly two centuries the 
birthplace and home of the Millington family. 

The present Millingtons of Hermitsville — 
though by no means rich — :were, and had good 
cause to be, proud of their place and station among 

( 9 ) 


10 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


the world’s workers. No stain nor shadow of sus- 
j)icion ever had rested on their name; through 
many long generations it had been borne by up- 
right, pure-minded men and women, who had cul- 
tivated with contented hearts the broad, rich fields 
they called their own ; and, keeping the even tenor 
of their way, had sought faithfully to do their 
duty in the station in which it had pleased God to 
place them. 

In their characters, as well as in their customs, 
the present Millingtons were almost exact copies 
of their ancestors. Kemote from the world, they 
knew little of its craft and sin save from hearsay, 
and conscious of their own integrity they seldom 
thought of suspecting the integrity of others. 
Toiling, rejoicing or sorrowing, as for them God’s 
will might be, they lived their lives; and nothing 
out of the ordinary course had ever happened to 
them until this June afternoon, that, as she laid 
aside her gingham working-apron and sat down 
in her open door to rest, Mrs. Millington thought 
one of the brightest afternoons she had ever known. 
She was alone. Her five healthy children were 
at school, and her husband was busy in an adjoin- 
ing field. There was nothing to disturb her, and 
with a longrdrawn breath of mingled weariness and 
content she folded her tired hands, leaned back in 
her cushioned rocker, and, overcome by the silence 
and the warm, drpwsy air, soon fell aslpep. 


SURPRISED, 


11 


She was awakened suddenly by the click of the 
gate, and, starting up, she passed her hands over 
her smooth hair to convince herself it was in order, 
and then looked out with some curiosity to see 
who was coming. 

It was a stranger, a woman, carrying a young 
child. And in the kindness of her heart Mrs. 
Millington left her chair and advanced a few steps 
to meet her. 

Slowly the stranger came up the graveled path, 
and as she watched her Mrs. Millington saw that 
she was very neatly dressed, and that her face was 
young and pretty, though its expression was pe- 
culiar. 

Just as if she had something to do that she 
was afraid to do, and yet was determined she 
would do,^’ Mrs. Millington said that night, when 
she tried to recall the woman’s appearance and 
describe her to her husband. When she first saw 
her, however, Mrs. Millington did not think 
much about the stranger’s expression. She no- 
ticed, with her usual quick sympathy, that she 
seemed very tired, and with a pleasant smile she 
waited to welcome her. 

The woman seemed a little embarrassed as she 
met Mrs. Millington’s kind gaze, but her voice 
was low and pleasing as slie said : 

It is a warm day, ma’am, and I am very tired; 
may I rest here awhile?” 


12 


OUT OF TEE SHADOW. 


^^Yes, certainly/’ Mrs. Millington answered, 
with warm hospitality. Come in and sit down. ■ 
Tired, are you ? I should think you would be if 
you have carried that heavy baby long. Have 
you walked far ? ” 

1 don’t know the exact distance,” the stranger 
said, as she dropped wearily into the comfortable 
chair Mrs. Millington drew forward for her ; 

perhaps the heat made the way seem longer than 
it really was. I am boarding in Millbrook and I 
have walked from there.” 

‘^From Millbrook!” Mrs. Millington ex- 
claimed in surprise. What could have induced 
you to do such a thing? Millbrook is nearly 
three miles from here.” 

^^Is it?” the woman asked indifferently. 

Well, I should think it might be. If I meas- 
ured the distance by ray feelings I should say I 
had walked around the globe. But I wanted to 
give baby an airing,” she hastened to explain. 

He hasn’t seemed very well lately, but the long 
walk has done him good, I think, for he is asleep 
now.” And as she spoke the stranger drew aside 
the light veil that covered the dimpled and rosy 
face of the little sleeper. 

^^Asleep ! ” Mrs. Millington echoed, as she 
came near and looked down with motherly eyes 
on the tiny, unconscious creature ; why, so he is, 
and you are so tired you must lay him down 


SURPEISED, 


13 


somewhere. Here/^ she continued — as she opened 
a door and dragged a large, old-fashioned willow 
cradle into the room — ‘^you may put him in this.’^ 
^^Have you a baby, ma^am?’^ the woman asked, 
as she watched Mrs. Millington beat up the downy 
pillows and straighten the snowy sheet. 

Mrs. Millington answered, with a smile 
that ended in a sigh. But I have a tender feel- 
ing for this old cradle,’^ she explained in a moment. 

I watched my last baby go to heaven from it ; 
and since then it has seemed too sacred for me to 
banish it to the garret ; and, besides,^^ she added in 
a lighter tone, I often find it very useful when 
my neighbors come in to sit with me for an hour 
or two and bring their little ones. There, it’s 
ready now; let me take the baby.’’ 

am making you a great deal of trouble, 
ma’am,” the woman said, as Mrs. Millington gently 
took the sleeping child from her. 

Trouble ! don’t speak of it. I love to make 
children comfortable. Dear little thing ; how 
soundly he sleeps. There,” and Mrs. Millington 
laid the little one down tenderly and gave the 
cradle a gentle jog with her foot; he is as com- 
fortable as a prince now; let him sleep there until 
you are ready to go.” ‘ 

Thank you,” the stranger said. A silence ofi 

several minutes followed, during which she fur- * 

tively examined the room and closely studied Mrs. 

2 


14 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 




Millingtpn^s placid face, with downcast, unsus- 
picious eyes she stood beside the cradle slowly 
rocking it, and then she said : 

You seem very fond of children, ma’am 
Do I?” Mrs. Millington said, with a cheery 
laugh. Well, I believe there is no deception in 
the seeming. I always love to feel a baby’s 
weight in ray arms; if the little ones bring care 
with them, they just as truly bring comfort that 
sweetens the care. At least that has been my ex- 
perience. How old is your baby ? ” 

^^He was born on last Christmas day,” the 
woman answered, while she looked sharply at Mrs. 
Millington. 

as he ? It will be very easy to remember 
his birthday,” Mrs. Millington said pleasantly. 

How many children have you, ma’am ? ” the 
woman asked soon, in an eager voice. 

Six in all,” was the quiet answer. Five on 
earth and one in heaven.” 

^‘Then you have lost one?” The question 
was asked in a troubled, almost pathetic voice, 
as if that thought touched a chord that still trem- 
bled painfully in the woman’s heart. 

never call it lost,” Mrs. Millington said 
with a tender smile, though her eyes moistened. 

It has only gone from me for a little while, and 
lieaven has grown very near and real to me since 
my last baby went there.” 


SUEPBISED. 


15 


A peculiar expression flitted across the woman’s 
face and a strange light gleamed and glittered in 
her eyes. Mrs. Millington did not notice it, and 
whatever its cause it lasted but a moment, and 
then, in a cool, calculating voice, the stranger 
asked ; 

Don’t you feel, sometimes, that it is a great 
tax to provide for ancl take care of so many chil- 
dren ? ” 

‘^No, no,” Mrs. Millington said earnestly, as 
if the cold question pained her warm, motherly 
heart. I never have felt that my children were 
a burden ; when love taxes us, you know, we al- 
ways pay willingly. I believe,” she added, with 
a happy laugh, “ that in ray heart and home I 
could always find room for one more. What is 
yoivr baby’s name ? ” she asked now, with the 
secret wish to learn who her strange visitor was. 

The woman’s lips parted, and then — as if some 
sudden recollection warned her to be silent — 
closed firmly. ^^He isn’t named yet,” she said 
slowly, after a moment’s hesitation. 

Then let me advise you to give him your 
family name for his Christian one,” Mrs. Milling- 
ton said, with a woman’s interest. I like that 
way of naming the oldest son.” 

There was no reply to this gratuitous advice. 
Whatever the woman intended to do she plainly 
did not intend to name her baby in Mrs. Milling- 


16 


OVT OF THE SHADOW. 


ton’s hearing; and, fearing that she could not 
question her further without rudeness, Mrs. Mill- 
ington quietly waited. 

Ten or fifteen minutes passed. The baby’s soft, 
low breathing told how peacefully it was sleeping, 
and the woman, as she leaned back in lier chair, 
looked very weary and exhausted. 

Mrs. Millington watched her pale face with 
compassionate eyes for a few moments and then 
left the room. In a very short time, however, she 
returned with a glass of creamy milk and a plate 
of fresh, crisp ginger-snaps. 

^^What, is the baby awake?” she asked, as she 
saw that her visitor had left her seat and was going 
to the cradle. 

The woman started and went hurriedly back to 
her chair. I thought he was, but he isn’t,” she 
said, in some confusion. 

Don’t disturb him until he does awake,” Mrs. 
Millington said kindly. I am sure you must 
be hungry after your long walk,” she continued, 
as she offered her visitor the glass and plate, ^^and 
before you go I want you to take this little lunch. 
Don’t hurry; you are welcome to sit here until 
you are thoroughly rested, but I must ask you to 
excuse me for awhile. The children are always 
so hungry when they come from school that we 
have supper early, and I must go and prepare it.” 
And with her mind full of the strawberry short- 


SURPRISED, 


17 


cake with which she intended to surprise her 
family, Mrs. Millington gently closed the parlor 
door and hastened to her kitchen. 

The strawberries had been hulled, the tea-table 
spread, and the short-cake was browning beauti- 
fully in the-oven, before Mrs. Millington was at 
leisure to look after her visitor; and then, just as 
she thought she would stej) into the parlor and 
see if she was still there, she chanced to glance 
out of a window and saw her walking slowly along 
the highway in the direction of Millbrook. 

^^Poor thing,’^ Mrs. Millington thought com- 
passionately, how tired she will be before she 
reaches her boarding-house with that heavy baby! 
I wonder who she is. Well, whoever she may be, 
I am glad I did what I could for her. It doesn^t 
cost much to show kindness to strangers, and, some- 
way, it does add wonderfully to our own comfort 
to know that we have done what we could to make 
some one else comfortable.^^ Then, with this pleas- 
ant reflection, Mrs. Millington took her short-cake 
from the oven, and in the agreeable excitement of 
spreading it with the delicious berries, and whip- 
ping her rich Alderney cream, she soon forgot all 
about the mysterious stranger. Supper w^as nearly 
over. The children's noisy exclamations of de- 
light over the short-cake had well repaid their 
tired mother for all lier labor, and she was leaning 
back in her chair and watching her happy family 

2- B 


/ 


18 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


Avith a smile on her contented face^ when suddenly, 
loud, shrill and imperious, above all the hubbub 
of laughing voices, and the clatter of glass and 
china, there came the sound of a baby crying. 

‘^Hush! hark ! Mr. Millington exclaimed, in 
surprise. “ Wife, what baby is that?^^ 

‘^What baby?’^ Mrs. Millington’s eyes were 
opened to their widest extent ; her hands were 
raised and her voice sharp and hysterical, as she 
cried : Why, it can’t be — it must be — it is — ” 

^^It can’t be, it must be, it is — what?” Mr. 
Millington demanded peremptorily, as another 
volley of loud and impatient cries came from the 
])arlor. Wife, for pity’s sake let us find out 
what it is, or it will waken tlie seven sleej^ers.” 
‘‘O, it’s that woman’s baby!” Mrs. Millington 
cried frantically, as, followed by her husband and 
children, she rushed into the parlor. 

Everything there was in its usual neat and pre- 
cise order; the cradle stood where she had placed 
it, and in the cradle, in the full glow of the sun- 
shine that streamed in at a west window, lay the 
baby she had so innocently befriended a few hours 
before. 

It was crying vigorously ; its little bare feet 
Avere kicking, with all its baby strength, against 
the side of the cradle, and, as in blank amazement 
Mrs. Millington looked down upon it, it raised its 
tiny arms as if begging for pity and protection. 


SURPRISED, 


19 


O, it is — it is that woman^s baby ! poor Mrs. 
Millington repeated, with a groan. 

^^What woman?” Mr. Millington asked, with 
sternness. 

O, I don’t know — I don’t know,” Mrs. Mill- 
ington answered, in a despairing voice. what 
shall I do? — what shall I do?” 

^^Take it up and stop its crying — if that is pos- 
sible,” Mr. Millington advised, as the cries that 
had ceased for a moment began again and grew, 
with every breath, louder and more imperious. 

Her husband’s stern and matter-of-fact words 
recalled Mrs. Millington to the immediate neces- 
sities of the situation; and stooping down she 
gently lifted the little one and carried it to a seat 
by the window. 

With an odd little sob, expressive at once of 
past trouble and present satisfaction, the baby 
nestled contentedly in her arms, and looked with 
innocent dark eyes at the group of wondering 
children who had gathered about it. 

Bring some milk, Anna,” Mrs. Millington 
said to her eldest daughter, a girl of fourteen. 

The milk was brought, and, after a few symp- 
toms of disapproval, the baby condescended to 
take it, and after doing so sat quietly in Mrs. 
Millington’s lap, the least concerned and the most 
untroubled member of the household. 

^^And now, Sarah,” Mr. Millington said, as soon 


20 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


as he could hope to be heard, now, Sarah, tell me 
what this means. Where has this child come 
from, and whose is it?^^ 

In as few words as possible Mrs. Millington 
told her story. 

You see, father,’’ she said, in conclusion, I 
really know no more about it than my opposite on 
the other side of the globe. Who would have 
supposed that that tired, harmless-looking woman 
could be wicked enough to desert her own baby. 

I never dreamed of such a thing.” 

Mr. Millington looked unutterable things dur- 
ing his wife’s explanation. 

Well,” he said dryly, when she had finished, 
^^that is a pretty story, Sarah, but I believe I’d 
rather read it in a book than have it happen in 
my own family. I suppose I might as reasonably 
hope to see this baby take wings and fly away as 
hope to find that woman. But,” he concluded, 
with emphasis, ‘^if she is in Hermitsville or Mill- • 
brook I will find her before I sleep.” 

There goes the doctor, and tlie minister is with 
liim,” exclaimed at that instant one of the children, 
who was standing by the window. 

^^Call them in ; do call them in,” Mrs. Milling- 
ton pleaded, with a secret feeling that the more 
there were to share her trouble the sooner she 
would be relieved of it. 

^‘Doctor, doctor,” shouted Mr. Millington 


SURPRISED. 


21 


through the open window; and in the still even- 
ing air the call was heard distinctly by Dr. 
W right. 

Coolly remarking to his companion, suppose 
one of the little Millingtons has succeeded at last 
in breaking its arm or its neck/^ the doctor turned 
his horse, and in a very few minutes both the 
minister and himself were in the house. . 

Mr. Millington met them at the door, and, 
without speaking, grasped the doctor with one 
hand and the minister with the other, and led 
them to the window where Mrs. Millington still 
sat with the baby. Look there he ordered. 

Well,^’ Dr. Wright replied, with much indif- 
ference, am looking, and I see a very fine, 
healthy baby ; but bless you, man, I am too old 
to go into ecstasies over such an everyday sight.’’ 
‘‘Ecstasies!” Mr. Millington repeated, with in- 
tense scorn ; but before he could say more tho 
minister, whose thoughtful eyes had detected at 
once that something was wrong, kindly asked : 

“ What is the matter, Mr. Millington? Are you 
in trouble? bias anything unusual occurred?” 
“Anything unusual ! ” Mr. Millington echoed, 
in an excited voice; “well, perhaps, you will not 
think it anything unusual, Mr. Crosby. The 
wisdom of the serpent and the innocence of the 
dove have been matched this afternoon, and ” — he 
added bitterly — “ with the usual result.” 


22 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


don’t talk so/’ Mrs. Millington begged 
tearfully. Let me tell the story.” And once 
more she related the events of the afternoon. 

Dr. Wright listened with cool, critical attention, 
clear case, I take it, of premeditated child- 
desertion,” he said, when all was told. ^^Well, 
the woman is to be commended for one thing, she 
took care to leave her baby in comfortable quarters. 
Slept soundly, did it? Let me look at the young- 
ster.” And taking the little one from Mrs. Mill- 
ington the doctor gave it a careful examination. 

Just as I suspected,” he said, as he gave it 
back to the hands that, kinder than a mother’s, 
were extended for it; ^Mn my opinion that child 
has been for hours under the influence of some 
powerful opiate. No w'onder it slept. Well, 
what are you going to do about it?” and he looked 
at Mr. Millington. 

Find that woman before I sleep,” was the firm 
answer. 

Dr. Wright nodded. I wish you success,” he 
said, ‘‘but you might just as well, in my opinion, 
look for the lost island of Atlantis, of which 
Mr. Crosby and Iwere talking when you called us. 
Tliat woman — whatever her relation to this child 
— has laid her plans carefully. Her very ques- 
tions to Mrs. Millington prove that. She satis- 
fied herself that this would be a good home for 
the child before she left it, and, now that she has 


SURPRISED, 


23 


left it, she will never call for it, and you will never 
find her,’’ 

Then, what can we do with this child ? ” Mr. 
Millington demanded. 

Dr. Wright replied, ^^you must an- 
swer your own question, my friend ; it is too 
serious a one for me to determine.” 

We cannot keep it here,” Mr. Millington de- 
clared ; we cannot aiford to keep it.” 

Wait,” and Mr. Crosby laid his hand gently 
on the arm of the excited man. Do not make 
any decision about this little one to-night, Mr. 
Millington. Take time to learn your duty before 
you either accept or reject this friendless child.” 
Mr. Millington looked sharply at his adviser a 
moment, and then he said, in a slow and almost 
bitter voice : 

‘^You are a minister, Mr. Crosby; you have 
the^ies and explanations for a great many in- 
scrutable and hidden things. Now, why do you 
suppose a good God allows such cruel deeds as 
this in a world where he has supreme power? 

Why does he suffer such innocent souls as this” — 
% 

and he pointed to the unconscious baby, who was 
crowing with delight as one of the children played 
with it — to be deserted by unnatural parents and 
left to the cold charity of a selfish world? Such 
things happen every day, Mr. Crosby ; now, why 
does God permit them ? Tell me, if you can.” 


24 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


cannot/’ was tlie calm answer. Hidden 
things I never attempt to explain, Mr. Milling- 
ton ; they belong to God. But ^ ’tis life speaks 
plain/ and twenty years from now — so far as this 
child is concerned — you will be able, perhaps, to 
answer your own questions. Meanwhile,’^ and 
a smile brightened the minister’s grave face, I 
do not believe it is in cruelty to this little one that 
to-inVlit it will have Mrs. Millington’s tender 

0 o 

care, and neither do I believe that your providing 
for it — if you do provide for it — will ever make 
you poorer.^^ 

You might as sensibly talk of my endowing an 
orphan asylum, as of my providing for this child/’ 
Mr. Millington said, in a voice sharp with anger. 
“ Charity — with a poor man who has five children 
and only two hands — must of necessity begin and 
end at home.” 

Perhaps, then, it is fortunate for this little one 
that it is already in your home,” the minister said, 
with a smile. 

A dark frown was Mr. Millington’s only re- 
ply to this gentle thrust, and, after watcliing the 
baby for a minute, the minister, who had no chil- 
dren, said slowly: * 

1 should be glad, if it were possible for me, to 
have this child in my own home.” 

Mrs. Millington looked up anxiously. Mrs. 
Crosby, the minister’s wife, was dearly loved in 


SURPRISED. 


25 


Herraitsville, and tlie little village owed much to 
her pure example and self-denying labors of love; 
but she bore with patient, uncomplaining grace 
the heavy cross of almost constant suffering, and 
Mrs. Millington knew it. 

O, no, Mr. Crosby she said, in quick re- 
sponse to his suggestion, ^Hhat is not to be thought 
of.^’ 

^^I.am afraid it is not/^ Mr. Crosby answered, 
with a half sigh. ^^Mr. Millington/^ and his grave 
eyes moved from the baby’s little, untroubled face 
to the man’s cloudy and annoyed countenance, 
^^if you are going to Millbrook to-night I will 
accompany you, and we will make every effort to 
find that woman, or, if we fail in doing that, to 
find at least some clue to her name and family. 
If she is heartless enough to desert her child, there 
may be others upon whom it has a claim who 
would gladly protect it. And in the meantime,” 
and he laid his hand gently upon the innocent 
baby-head, ^Sve will remember that, like our- 
selves, this little one belongs to our Father in 
heaven ; and for the love we bear that Father we 
will deal tenderly with his helpless child.” 

^‘Ye — es,” Mr. Millington said, with secret 
reluctance. And as he left the room, accompanied 
by the doctor and Mr. Crosby, he whispered to 
himself the consoling promise ; ^^Only for this one 
night.” 


3 


CPTAPTER II. 


CONQUERED. 


'“And the inward voice was saying: 
Whatsoever thing thou doest 


To the least of mine and lowest, 

That thou doest unto me ! ” — Longfellow. 


R. MILLINGTON’S search for the un^ 


known woman, as Dr. Wright had pre- . 


dieted, proved fruitless. Not a trace of her could 
be found. 

All the boarding-houses, stores, and even the 
private homes in Mill brook, were visited, and 
everywhere the same answer was received. No 
one had seen or heard of such a person. Baffled 
and almost discouraged, Mr. Millington and Mr. 
Crosby went at last to the railroad station, and 
there the answers to their inquiries, though de- 
cisive, were far from satisfactory. 

The depot-master did not remember seeing a 
woman with a baby leave the train that day, but 
he did remember distinctly that a woman, who 
answered in every particular to Mi\ Millington’s 
descri})tion, had taken the train for the city about 
four o’clock that afternoon. lie remembered her 



( 26 ) 


CONQUERED, 


27 - 


becaiise the expression of her face had impressed 
liim as being very ])eculiar; so peculiar, indeed, 
that he liad watched her closely until the train 
bore her away. 

You may rest assured that the woman is a 
tramp.’’ Dr. Wright, who had just joined his 
friends at the station, said this. She probably 
entered Hermitsville at your end of the village, 
Mr. Millington, and after leaving her child at 
your house came immediately to the station. By 
this time she is safe in New York; and you might 
as well try to find your way through the catacombs 
without a clue, as to trace her in that city without 
the aid of a detective — or even with one,” he 
added, to himself. 

It was hard for Mr. Millington to acknowledge 
himself defeated, and it was late in the night when 
he finally abandoned the search and returned 
liome. He was tired, disappointed, and angry : in ' 
no mood to be mollified by gentle words, and 
more determined than ever tliat the innocent cause 
of his trouble should not remain, for many hours, 
an inmate of his home. 

‘Mt is a fortunate thing that there are plenty of 
foundling asylums and almshouses in the country,” 
he said savagely to himself, as he entered his house. 

It is a man’s duty to provide well for his own 
family ; but it never has been, and it never will be, 
his duty to take in every little waif that drifts to 


28 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


his door. Now, Sarah is so soft-hearted that I 
have no doubt she would be willing to keep 
this youngster, and wear herself out in working 
for and taking care of it. But I will have no 
sentiment about the business. The logic of good, 
sound, common-sense is what is needed in a case 
like this, and it is what I am going to use,’^ and 
with this stern resolve Mr. Millington opened his 
room door, and with a set face and defiant air 
walked in. 

The lamp was burning, but Mrs. Millington 
was asleep; and as her husband glanced at her he 
noticed that her face looked sad and tear-stained, 
and his own stern expression softened instantly. 

Poor Sarah,’^ he thought, with kind appre- 
ciation of Mrs. Millington’s unavailing self-re- 
proaches; after all, this trouble falls more heavily 
on her than on me.” And anxious not to disturb 
her he moved with noiseless steps about the room. 
The baby was sleeping in a crib by Mrs. Milling- 
ton’s side, and Mr. Millington with difficulty 
suppressed a growl of dissatisfaction as he dis- 
covered it. 

There is one comfort,” he soliloquized, between 
his sighs of vexation ; it is asleep, and I hope it 
is still so much under the influence of that opiate 
Dr. Wright talked of, that it will sleep for hours 
to come. I am sure I have seen and heard enough 
of it for one night.” 


CONQUERED. 


29 


This pleasant reflection quite comforted Mi\ 
Millington, and he was about to prepare for rest 
when an odd little sound came from the crib. 
Mr. Millino:ton had heard it often before in his life 

O 

and knew well enough what it meant. The baby 
was waking. 

Hush ! donT wake mother, he said involun- 
tarily, and stepping to the crib he looked down 
with wrathful eyes on its little occupant. The 
baby was already wide awake. Its tiny face was 
puckered and drawn, and it was plainly just ready 
to cry with all its strength. 

^^Oh, dear ! Mr. Millington sighed in despair, 
this will never do. Sarah will have a headache 
to-morrow if she is disturbed now. What shall I 
do?’^ 

No one answered his anxious question, but the 
baby’s fretfulness increased with every moment, 
and in sheer desperation the strong man lifted it 
in his arms, wrapped it awkwardly in a blanket, 
and taking the lamp walked like a martyr to the 
kitchen. The grasp of the strong arms seemed to 
rest the little atom of humanity, and the motion 
of walking evidently pleased it. It changed its 
mind about crying, and when Mr. Millington, 
after placing the lamp on the table, glanced down 
on it, it cooed with delight, while its little hands 
and feet moved restlessly, as if to assure him, that 
it wanted action, not rest. 


80 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Like walking, do yoii?’^ Mr. Millington in- 
quired dryly, as he interpreted correctly the little 
one’s expressive signs. “ Well, if you will only 
be quiet, we’ll walk.” 

The promise thus given Mr. Millington deemed 
it wise to fulfil, and back and forth, and up and 
down the plain, old kitchen he slowly paced, 
while the baby nestled in his arms, and by its 
soft, low coos indicated its satisfaction with his 
performance. 

But after a time even walking failed to content 
the little autocrat; it was hungry, and on looking 
around the room Mr. Millington soon discovered 
a cup filled with milk and nicely prepared for the 
baby’s supper. 

It was an odd predicament, but unless Mr. 
Millington chose to awaken his wdfe — and he did 
not consider the insio^nificant wee creature in his 
arms worthy of that honor — he must feed it him- 
self; and very awkwardly, but with great care, he 
proceeded to do so. 

The little one took the milk without much ado, 
and then, too tired and sleepy to maintain its vigil 
longer, it pressed its little head close against Mr. 
Millington’s arm, drew two or three long breaths, 
closed and then opened its drowsy eyes a few times, 
and at last ceased to struggle and fell into a deep 
slumber. 

With curious eyes Mr. Millington had watched 


CONQ UERED. 


31 


its efforts to keep awake, and it was with a sense 
of great relief that he now laid it back in the crib, 
without disturbing Mrs. Millington, who still 
slept soundly. 

By this time it was early morning. Already 
from the chimneys of two or three houses near his 
own the smoke was slowly rising, and, knowing 
that it would be useless for him to try to sleep 
now, Mr. Millington went thoughtfully back to 
the kitchen. He was tired, and by no means 
jubilant, but he was conscious that his feelings 
towards the helpless child, so strangely thrown 
upon him for protection, were oddly changed. 

Prudence still whispered, ^^You cannot afford 
to keep it,^^ and to the voice of prudence he was 
firmly resolved to listen ; but a deep compassion 
had taken the place of the anger with which the 
night before he had thought of the baby. Its very 
helplessness had conquered him ; the few hours 
spent in nursing had awakened an interest in it, 
and now, in his own experience, he was proving 
the truth of one of his favorite theories : if you 
want to love people you must show kindness to 
them. 

We will wait awhile, and try to find the 
baby’s friends before we take it to an asylum,” he 
said to his wife at breakfast that morning; and 
Mrs. Millington’s tender heart gladly agreed to 
his decision. That day a new king was crowned 


32 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


in the Millington househokl, and under his im- 
perious sway the old order of things was quickly 
changed. The weeks followed one another in 
rapid succession until the first of September 
dawned, and still the babv continued the centre 
of interest. He was a bright and winning little 
creature, and if his presence in the old farm-house 
added to the cares of the family, it just as certainly 
added to the happiness of all its members. 

Still the mystery of his parentage remained un- 
solved. Advertisements had been inserted in the 
leading ])apers of the nearest city, but no answers 
were received, and at last all hope that the child 
ever would be claimed, and its mother — if mother 
there was — found, had to be abandoned. 

There was no mark on the chikrs body or on 
its clothing — which was of very soft and fine ma- 
terial — by which it could be identified in the 
coming years; but an old-fashioned necklace was 
clasped around its neck, and on the inside of the 
clasp, which was large and ]>lainly very old, the 
initials F. G. S. were engraved, and also the Latin 
words, Tenax jjrojoositL 

Tenax propositi — tenacious of purpose — that 
must be a family motto,’’ said Mr. Crosby,, when 
Mrs. Millington showed him the necklace. 

Do you think so?” Mrs. Millington asked, 
with much interest. Well, do you suppose 
thovse letters, F. G. S., stand for the baby’s name?” 


CONQUERED. 


33 


]\Ir. Crosby turned the clasp and examined it 
carefully. They may ; but it is impossible for 
us to decide that question/’ he said, after some 
thought. The clasp is so old that it was very 
likely an heirloom, and it may be engraved \vitli 
a grandmother’s or a grandfather’s initials. It is 
all a mystery ; but take good care of this necklace, 
Mrs. Millington,” the good man advised, ^^for it 
may prove an important factor some day in the 
child’s life.” And in obedience to that advice the 
necklace was laid carefully away among Mrs. 
Millington’s cherished treasures. 

Til rough all the long, warm, summer days 
charity had its own sweet way; but with'the 
blowing of the first chilly winds of autumn Mr. 
Millington’s prudent spirit began to grow uneasy. 

We cannot go on making a plaything of this 
baby any longer,” he said one morning to his wife. 

Times are going to be hard this winter; coal and 
flour are both higher than usual, and — as gen- 
erally happens when everything the farmer has to 
buy is dearest — everything we have to sell is 
cheaper than usual. Something must be done 
with this child, and the sooner the better. So get 
it ready and I will take it to the almshouse. 
There is a good home for children attached to 
that institution, I am told, and I think our most 
sensible course will be to place the child there at 
once.” 


c 


84 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


Father!’^ Mrs. Millington-exclaimed, in a 
pained voice, cannot bear to take the dear 
little creature there. Are you sure that it is really 
necessary ? 

^^Yes,’^ Mr. Millington said, with firmness. 

I am sure. Our duty to our own children 
makes it necessary. If we would not have them 
suffer we must be careful how we give their bread 
and butter to others.’^ 

They might do with less butter, perhaps — if 
by butter you mean luxuries — and then maybe 
there would be plenty of bread for them, and 
this little one, too,’^ Mrs. Millington suggested 
timidly. 

Nonsense,^^ Mr. Millington said, in a peevish 
voice. believe that we should be just before 
we are generous, Sarah, and this is no time for 
sentiment. We must try to be sensible and look 
at the sober facts of the situation. That they are 
sober facts no man possessed of common-sense 
would deny. We have five children to feed, 
clothe and educate, and if we do that, as we ought, 
there will be nothing left for anybody else^s child, 
I ‘can assure you.^^ 

Suppose our last baby had lived,’^ Mrs. Mill- 
ington said gently ; there would be six children 
here then. Would you feel still that you had one 
too many to provide for?^^ 

Mr. Millington’s resolute face softened for an 


CONQUERED, 


35 


instant, and a tender light shone in his eyes, but 
it quickly darkened. He had decided that he 
could not afford to continue to support the little 
stranger, and he was determined that pity, or senti- 
ment, as he called it, should not influence him to 
reconsider his decision. 

That child is not here, Sarah,^^ he said, in a 

* 

moment, ^^and since it was taken from us it is a 
clear indication, I think, that we were meant to 
provide only for five. If we want to keep the 
children still spared to us safe in our home, we 
must be careful and keep charity inside our own 
doors. We cannot care for all the forsaken chil- 
dren in the country, and if we do our duty by our 
own family neither men nor angels can ask more 
of us.^’ 

I am not sure about the angels,’’ Mrs. Mill- 
ington said, in a low voice; but her husband, 
though he heard, would not notice her words. 

Get the baby ready,” he ordered, as he left 
the house, ^^and I will take it this afternoon when 
I go to Millbrook.” 

Taught by long experience, Mrs. Millington 
knew that argument would be of no avail with 
her husband, now that he had decided so firmly 
on his course, and felt so confident that he was 
both prudent and right. She made no further 
eff(>rt to influence him to change his purpose, but 
with many secret regrets she put her house in 


36 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


order, sent her children to school, without telling 
them that they were to lose their little playfellow, 
and about noon dressed tlie baby for the last time, 
and with it in her arms started with Mr. Milling- 
ton for Millbrook. 

Well,’^ he said, with a long-drawn breath as 
they entered the grounds belonging to the alms- 
house, ^Mt is a great nuisance this being made, in 
any way or degree, responsible for other people’s 
children. I don’t want to be what the Bible calls 
^ my brother’s keeper,’ and I don’t think I ought 
to be judged as if I were. Whatever becomes of 
this child, I do not think that I could be required, 
in justice, to do more for it than I have done. 
Well, here we are, and now, as the old song says, 
^ the sooner it’s over the sooner to sleep ; ’ so go in, 
Sarah, and explain the business to the authorities 
as quickly as you can. I don’t think I’ll go in. 
I don’t believe there will be any trouble about 
your leaving the baby.” 

Mr. Millington was quite right: there was no 
trouble, and the baby was soon transferred from 
Mrs. Millington’s motherly arms to the nursery 
of the almshouse. With pitiful eyes Mrs. Mill- 
ington looked around her. Everything was clean 
— she was glad to see that — but everything was 
also cold and unloving; and the unfortunate chil- 
dren sheltered there seemed to be regarded as so 
many little machines. They were to be kept in good 


CONQ UERED, 


37 


order, and, as soon as possible, sent out into the 
world to do their share of its work. Well would 
it be for the world, Mrs. Millington thought sadly, 
if they did not add also their full share to its 
misery and sin. 

With an intense yearning, even at this last mo- 
ment, to rescue the child from the fate she feared 
for it, Mrs. Millington returned to her husband ; 
but he was in no mood to be pleaded with. He 
hurried her away, and would not himself bestow 
one farewell glance on the baby. In silence and 
evident dissatisfaction he drove home. 

Great was the mourning among the Millington 
cliildren that evening, when they understood that 
the baby had left them. 

^Msn’t he coming back to-morrow?’^ asked the 
youngest, a little curly-headed girl of six, as she 
climbed upon her father’s knee. 

No, Clara.” 

Why not?” demanded all the children, in a 
full chorus. 

Because I do not want him here; I cannot 
afford to keep him,” Mr. Millington explained 
shortly. Bring the Bible,” he ordered, in a 
minute; ^Gt is time for evening prayers.” 

The old leathern-bound Bible was brought ; and, 
slowly and reverently as was his custom, Mr. 
Millington opened it and began to read. Soon, 
however, his voice grew husky and indistinct. It 
4 


38 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


\ 


was a well-known passage that he was reading, 
and he had never before thought it difficult ; but 
now his lips trembled and stammered over a few 
words, of all on the sacred page perhaps the 
simplest. 

‘^Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the 
least of these — ye have done it unto'me.’^ 

^^Unto me!*^ And he had thrown that little 
one upon the cold charity of the world and left it 
in an almshouse. 

Mr. Millington closed the Bible. 

— I do not feel like reading to-night/Mie 
said, in a troubled voice. 

The children and their mother waited. Prayers 
always followed the Bible-reading, but to-night 
Mr. Millington discovered soon that he did not 
feel like praying. 

We will repeat the Lord’s Prayer,” he said. 
Reverently the little group waited for him to 
lead them ; but the first two words he uttered ap- ' 
palled him. Never before had he understood 
their meaning as he did at that moment. 

^^Our Father” — his and that little child’s. 
How could he answer for that child when, in the 
time of the restitution of all things,” its Father 
and his asked him to account for it? 

Conscience-smitten — at the conclusion of the 
prayer — Mr. Millington . took his hat and went 
out, without waiting to give his children the 


CONQ UERED. 


39 




good -night kiss with which he always sent them 
to bed. 

That night, in the old Millington homestead, 
was a long and troubled one. The children went 
to bed grieving for the baby, and the two youngest 
cried themselves to sleep. Mrs. Millington was 
tired, but the rest she needed came to neither body 
nor mind. She missed the, baby ; care for it had 
grown very sweet to her motherly heart, and by 
the side of its vacant crib she wept more bitter 
tears than she had shed since her own baby went 
from her to the safe shelter of its Saviour’s arms. 

Mr. Millington did not go to bed. He did not • 
feel like sleeping, he said, almost crossly, when 
his wife asked him why he did not retire. 

He fought over the old battle between what he 
called charity and prudence, and common -sense 
and sentiment, many times that night. With all 
the resolution and strength of will that he pos- 
sessed — and by nature he was very inflexible — he 
sought to be prudent and sensible; but he could 
not forget the solemn inasmuch,” that seemed 
printed in letters of light in his Testament ; and 
very early in the morning, before the pink of sun- 
rise had passed into the white light of the full 
day, he went out, harnessed his horse, and took 
the road leading to Millbrook. 

Mrs. Millington and the children were at break- 
fast when he returned. They had been greatly 


40 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


surprised at his unusual absence, but they were 
still more surprised when he came inland without 
a word placed the baby in Mrs. Millington^s lap. 

The poor little creature had been very home- 
sick. It had cried and cried until they thought it 
must be ill, they told Mr. Millington at the alms- 
house.'' Now, as it recognized Mrs. Millington, 
with a great sob, that told how much it was re- 
lieved, it nestled in her arms, and for a long time 
no coaxing of the children could tempt it from 
her. 

It is ours,^^ Mr. Millington said solemnly, as 
they all stood around it. It is to be your 
brother, children, and your mother^s and my son. 
Now, bring me the Bible.’^ 

Once more the Bible was brought, and the 
family grouped themselves for morning prayers. 
Was it by chance — or through the guidance of 
that Spirit who watches all our lives, and in so 
many ways gives counsel and comfort — that the 
Bible opened at an unusual place? Mr. Milling- 
ton did not know, but with a great and glad throb 
of the heart he read these words: ^^Take this 
child away, and nurse it for me, and I will give thee 
thy wages.’^ 

‘^We will do it, wife,^’ Mr. Millington said, 
with a tender light on his face, as he called Mrs. 
Millington to his side and showed her the old 
command. I do not know what the wages will 


CONQUERED, 


41 


be/’ he continued thoughtfully, ^^but we will obey 
the Lord, and trust in him, and I do not believe, 
after all,, that sharing our daily bread with this 
little one will ever impoverish us or our chil- 
dren.” 

^^No,” Mrs. Millington said, in a glad voice, as 
she stooped and kissed the baby, ^^no, we will lose 
nothing by being compassionate, for our Father is 
a faithful proiuiser.” 


CHAPTER III. 


OPINIONS. 

-S 

“ Be bounteous in thy faith, for not misspent 
Is confidence unto the Father lent. 

Thy need is sown and rooted for his rain.’^ . 

— George Macdonald, 


I N a little country village, news, whether good 
or bad, is a rapid traveller; ears to receive it 
and tongues to publish it are never wanting, and 
in less than twenty-four hours after the baby’s tri- 
umphant return to its home everybody in Hermits- 
ville knew that the Millingtons had decided to 
adopt the child ; and many and widely different 
were the comments of friends and neighbors upon 
their decision. 

Throughout tlfe summer the baby’s arrival at 
the Millingtons had been the most interesting 
topic of conversation Hermitsville had known ; 
but the excitement occasioned by its advent had 
subsided gradually ; and even when at its height 
it had never equalled the interest aroused now by 
the knowledge that the little one was, as the Mill- 
ington children said, going to be one of them. 
Everybody in Hermitsville had supposed that 
( 42 ) 


OPINIONS. 


43 


Mr. Millington would soon place the child in an 
asylum ; and everybody now was quite ready to 
doubt the wisdom of his doing otherwise. 

The weekly sewing society was to meet the 
next day, and, fortunately for those who had not 
yet seen the baby, at Mrs. Mi]lington^s. 

It^s a good thing it^s coming here,^^ sagacious- 
ly remarked Miss Charity Goodman, Mrs. Mill- 
ington^s nearest neighbor, when she ran in that 
morning to borrow a cup of yeast. Curious 
people are a good deal like hungry ones, I think : 
you have generally got to satisfy them before you 
can have much comfort ; and I must say, Mrs. Mill- 
ington, that if there was as much money in Her- 
mitsville as there is curiosity about you this morn- 
ing, we should all be pretty rich.’^ 

People are welcome to their curiosity,^’ Mrs. 
Millington returned, with some spirit, ^^and of 
course they will have their own opinions and ex- 
press them too ; but at least my conscience does 
not reproach me.^’ 

^^No, I should hope not,’’ Miss Charity an- 
swered consolingly ; ^^and really, Mrs. Millington, 
I don’t know as anybody — when it comes to the 
j)oi nt — reproaches you ; but you see you are not 
doing precisely as most folks would in your cir- 
cumstances ; and so, of course, if you are brave 
enough to do a singular thing, you’ll have to be 
brave enough to bear to be talked about. But, 


44 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


la, it don’t make any difference : folks will talk 
no matter what you do. If you had left that baby 
in the almshouse, of course they would have called 
you heartless; and now that you are going to 
keep it, they will all, with one accord, call you 
foolish. You can’t control tongues any more than 
you can the wind, Mrs. Millington, and though 
tongues can cut pretty sharp sometimes, the wind 
is just as much worth minding as they are. Well, 
good-morning, Mrs. Millington. I’ll be over 
early this afternoon, and I guess we will have a 
pretty full meeting of the society.” 

Miss Goodman’s guess proved as correct as the 
proverbial Yankee one. The afternoon was 
lovely, and full of the golden light with which 
September loves to glorify the hills and fields. 
At an early hour Mrs. Millington’s parlor was 
filled with the members of the sewing society; 
and while busy hands cut, basted, and sewed gar- 
ments for a missionary box, busy tongues enlarged 
on all that had occurred recently in Hermitsville, 
and soon, by common consent, touched upon the 
baby. 

Where is he, Mrs. Millington? Wont you 
bring him in and let us see him?” pleaded two 
or three young girls ; and, yielding to their wishes, 
Mrs. Millington went out and soon returned with 
the baby. He had been frolicking with the chil- 
dren, and his little face was still dimpled with 


OPINIONS. 


45 


SQiiles’, while his tiny hands still grasped the drum- 
sticks with which he had been playing rat-a-tat 
on the kitchen table. Now, when he found him- 
self surrounded by so many strangers, his inno- 
cent eyes looked from one to another with an ex- 
pression of serious wonder for a moment, but then 
shyness conquered him, and dropping his play- 
things he clasped his^arms tightly around Mrs. 
Millington’s neck, hid his face on her shoulder, 
and only at intervals condescended to look soberly 
up at the group of young girls and curious 
matrons that gathered around him. 

All the eyes in the room were busy for a few 
moments, , and then sewing and talking began 
again. He is a nice little fellow,” said a sen- 
sible and practical-looking woman, whose opinions 
the whole society usually endorsed; but now, 
Mrs. Millington, do you really mean that you 
are going to keep him, and do for him just as if 
he was truly your own child?” 

Yes,” Mrs. Millington answered calmly, ‘4hat 
is our present intention. What would you do?” 
It’s a dreadful risky business — adopting other 
folks’ children,” spoke up an energetic little 
woman, as she clipped off a needleful of thread 
with her scissors, and caught up Mrs. Milling- 
ton’s question before Mrs. Wise could answer it. 

There are a good many investments that don’t 
never return us nothin’ but disappointment ; and 


46 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


I must say adopting children does seem to me 
altogether too uncertain and disappointin’ an in- 
vestment for sensible people to make, when they 
aint in no way compelled to. Your own children 
aint any too apt to overwhelm you with gratitude, 
and other folks’ children are pretty sure to be like 
the other folks — all for themselves.” 

I do not like to hear you talk so. Miss Hard- 
ing,” said Mrs. Crosby, the minister’s wife. You 
ought never to discourage any one who is under- 
taking a noble and self-denying task. This child- 
may prove a great blessing to Mrs. Millington.” 

' Well, if he does, he will prove an exception 
to most of the adopted children I’ve heard of,” 
M iss Harding said, with energy. 

Have you such a thing as a New Testament 
in your house. Miss Harding?” asked one of the 
younger women now, with a gleam of mischief in 
her eyes. 

Yes, of course, I have,” returned Miss Hard- 
ing. Why do you ask ? are you in want of one ? ” 

0 no, thank you ; I was only wondering if you 
ever had read of the blessing promised to those 
who received the little children.” 

1 guess I’ve read it as often as you have,” 
flashed back Miss Harding, but I believe in treat- 
ing the Bible with reverence. I don’t approve of 
dragging it into the discussion of questions that 
ought to be settled by common -sense.” 


OPINIONS, 


47 


Christian common-sense, I think you mean, 
Miss Harding/^ Mrs. Crosby softly suggested, 
^^and you know we need the Bible to teach us 
that.^^ ^ 

All this while Mrs. AVise had been watcliing 
the baby, and deliberating over Mrs. Millington’s 
question. Now she felt ready to speak. 

‘^Well,” she said, in a slow and very distinct 
voice, ‘^yoLi will be shocked, of course, Mrs. 
Crosby, at my words; but Mrs. Millington is my 
husband’s third cousin, and where one is related 
one ought to be privileged to speak plainly ; and 
I believe it is my duty to say just what I think 
about this matter ; and I must say that I should 
not go to the Bible to find out what I ought to 
do in a case like this.” 

Mrs. Wise paused and glanced around the room. 
Miss Harding nodded approvingly, and Mrs. 
Crosby looked pained, but no one spoke, save a 
mischievous girl, who presumed to ask : Where 

would you go, Mrs. AA^ise? to the almshouse?” 
Mrs. Wise silenced the girl with one stern 
glance, and with great deliberation proceeded : I 

might think it prudent to go to some of my friends 
for advice, but I should, at least, consult the plain, 
sound common-sense that I believe we are meant 
to settle such questions with ; and ” — with a sharp 
look at Mrs. Alillington — would consider, first, 
if my farm was free from mortgage ; and then I 


48 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


would go to my bank-book and see what account 
that had to give. Adopted children are pretty 
expensive luxuries, and you have no right to an 
indulgence you cannot afford, you know. And 
then — with another severe glance at Mrs. Mill- 
ington — I would consider my own children, 
and make sure that my charity to others did not 
conflict with my duty to them.’^ 

There, certainly, is good, sound common-sense 
for you,’’ Miss Harding said approvingly. 

^^The common-sense of this world is like fire — 
a good servant, but a hard master,” Mrs. Crosby 
said thoughtfully. We are in danger of grow- 
ing very selfish when we consult it alone, and for- 
get to ask, ^ Lord, what wilt thou have me to do ? ’ ” 
All this while the little creature, so happily ig- 
norant of the discussion he was exciting, had been 
' clinging to Mrs. Millington’s neck. Now he sud- 
denly raised his head, turned and looked seriously 
at Mrs. Wise for a second, and then, with a low, 
liappy coo, lifted his tiny hand, and began softly 
to pat Mrs. Millington’s cheek. 

The baby’s gesture, so expressive of helplessness 
and confidence, touched Mrs. Millington, and un- 
consciously she drew him closer, while with much 
composure she answered Mrs. Wise. 

Mr. Millington and myself have been as anx- 
ious to be prudent as even you could have been, 
Mrs. Wise,” she said, and we have considered, 


OPINIONS, 


49 


carefully, every one of the questions you have 
SLlo^o;este(]/^ 

oo 

‘^And found you could answer them all satisfac- • 
torily, I suppose,’^ Mrs. Wise replied, with, per- 
haps, a faint suspicion of malice ; for, as she very 
well knew, her own husband held a mortgage on 
Mr. Millino;ton’s farm. 

Mrs. Millington acknowledged, with 
quiet dignity ; we found them very hard to 
answer. Our farm is mortgaged — everybody 
knows that; we have no bank-book to consult, 
and, next to the service we owe our Heavenly 
Father, our first duty is to the children he has 
given us. We would be the last to deny that.’^ 
Then, why,^^ Mrs. Wise demanded, in a 
sharper voice than even the fact that her husband 
was Mrs. Millington’s third cousin warranted — - 
why, in the name of conscience, are you going 
to adopt this outcast child ? ” 

There were tears in Mrs. Millington’s eyes, 
though a happy smile played around her lips, as 
she answered ; Because we have done one thing 
that you have not advised, Mrs. Wise. We have 
consulted our Bible, and found there that it is 
safe always to do God’s will and trust in his 
promises.” 

There was a little pause, and then, like one 
determined to have the last word, Mrs. Wise said: 
Yes, it is always safe to dp God’s will, of course; 
b - p 






50 


OVT OF TEE SHADOW, 


but you must know it before you can do it ; and 
are you — with an emphasis very expressive of 
doubt on the word — ^‘sure that you know it now, 
Mrs. Millington ? 

Just then Mr. Crosby, who had been standing 
for several minutes unnoticed near the open door, 
came forward. 

Let me answer your question, Mrs. Wise/^ he 
said pleasantly ; and for my answer let me 
quote this little verse from the New Testament : 
‘It is not the will of your Father which is in 
heaven that one of these little ones should perish.’ 
If that is true — and we believe our Bible — then 
can we doubt that, when God sends a little child, 
in training for immortality, into this world, it 
is his will that all good influences should be 
thrown around it, and all possible efforts made to 
train it, so that it may prove a blessing and be 
blessed in the world? This friendless child may 
be a great comfort and honor to his kind protectors 
some day. Is he named yet, Mrs. Millington ?” 

“No,” Mrs. Millington answered, “we have 
never called him anything but baby.” 

“King will suit him soon almost as well as 
baby,” Mr. Crosby said, with a smile, as he no- 
ticed the imperious way in which the child was 
now repelling or permitting the advances of sev- 
eral of the young girls. “ He is a born prince, I 
believe^ though his kingdom is lost. But, prince 


OPINIONS, 


51 


or peasant, a name is indispensable. Ladies, come, 
who can suggest a good one ? 

There was a chorus of replies to this question, 
and name after name was proposed, only to be 
rejected by Mrs. Millington. 

do not care to give him a fine, romantic 
name that will sound as if he had stepped out of a 
novel, she said sensibly. ^^Of course, for his 
family name, he will take ours. I do not be- 
lieve — and she smiled as she glanced at Miss 
Harding — ^Hhat we need be afraid to trust him 
with it; but for his Christian name^^ — and she 
turned appealingly to Mr. Crosby — I would like 
something plain but expressive. Something’’ — 
she explained in a voice too low for any one but 
the minister to hear — that will help me always 
to remember whose will it is that he should 
belong to us.” 

understand,” Mr. Crosby said, with quick 
sympathy. There are .a great many names that 
are full of significance. Let me see. Theodore — 
Nathanael — they have precious meanings. Ah ! 
here is one, better than all others — John.” 

John ! that plain, old-fashioned name!” pouted 
a young girl, who was inclined to be romantic. 

Yes, John, ^ the gracious gift of God,”’ Mr. 
Crosby answered. Other names can be inter- 
preted the gift of God, but only this one means 
the gracious gift. Do you know what ^ gracious ’ 


52 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


means?’’ and he looked at the young girl who 
had spoken last. 

Oh, please don’t ask me for definitions ! ’’ she 
answered quickly. 

‘^No? Well, I will ask the dictionary. Here 
it Is,” he said, in a moment. ^ Gracious — 

abounding in mercy, manifesting love.’ Yes, if 
Mrs. Millington approves, ’we will christen this 
little one John. 

^^Yes, John is the best name for this baby,” 
Mrs. Millington said, with much satisfaction. 

Gradually the curiosity about him subsided; 
and, though there were some who for a long time 
continued to affirm, with Miss Harding, that it 
was ^^a risky business” for Mr. Millington to 
adopt him, the majority of the inhabitants of 
Hermitsville acknowledged their neighbor’s right 
to do as he pleased, and soon accepted the child as 
one of the Millington children. And as the 
uneventful years went by, and they saw him 
treated, in all respects, like one born to the rights 
of the family, they ceased to speak openly of the 
mystery that surrounded him ; though still, some- 
times of winter nights, they told his story in con- 
fidential whispers around their firesides. 


CHAPTER IV. 


DISCORDS. 

Often by illusions cheated, 

Often baffled and defeated 
In the tasks to be completed, 

He, by toil and self-denial, 

To the highest shall attain.’^ — Longfellow. 


HE years, with all their struggles and defeats 


and victories, their unwritten histories and 
deeds of world*renown, went swiftly by, until ten 
summers had passed since the eventful June day 
when Mrs. Millington found the strange baby in 
her cradle. 

Those years had dealt very gently with the 
Millingtons. Ivo sorrow or serious trouble had 
come near them, but almost unbroken health and 
prosperity had been granted to them ; and had 
Mr. Millington been a believer in the old-time 
stories of fairies and brownies, he might have 
looked upon the friendless child under his protec- 
tion as a veritable Lob-Lie-By-The-Fire ; for, 
from the day when charity had triumphed over 
selfishness, and he liad opened his heart and 
adopted him as his own, he had been prospered in 



( 53 ) 


64 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


all the works of his hands. His crops were always 
abundant, his flocks and herds profitable, and his 
investments sure to prove successful. The mort- 
gage on his farm had long ago been paid ; and, liad 
Mrs. Millington been so disposed, she could have 
boasted now of a bank-book, in which the sums 
recorded, though not large, were all well deserved 
and gained by honest labor. But the Millingtons 
were not boastful, and so, as the years, so full of 
tranquil happiness, went by, they only thanked 
the Lord more gratefully for their past and pres- 
ent mercies, and trusted him more fearlessly for 
the needs of the unknown future. 

They never had read of fairies and brownies, 
and never were fanciful enough to look upon their 
adopted son as anything more than an ordinary 
boy ; but often, when in their Bible-reading their 
eyes rested on the familiar passage : I have 

learned by experience that the Lord hath blessed 
me for thy sake,^^ they would look thoughtfully 
upon the boy, and humbly own that tlie promises 
of the Lord were sure, and happy were those who 
trusted in them. 

The Millington children had all reached that 
period of life when childish things are outgrown 
and put away. The oldest daughter was married, 
and happy in a home of her own. William, the 
oldest boy, had mastered his trade, and was look- 
ing forward to the time when he would own his 


DISCORDS. 


55 


t 

shop and be himself the master of others. Henry, 
the second son, was — as Mrs. Millington loved to 
call him — his father’s right-hand man. Fond of 
his home, and of the old fields where he had 
played in childhood, he asked no higher lot than 
to live among them and some day call them his 
own. There were only two more Millington 
children, and they were both girls. One was 
eighteen years old, and already proud of her skill 
and success as a dressmaker. The youngest, Clara, 
wa-s a sunny-hearted girl of sixteen, who cared, as 
she frankly owned, very little for books, but de- 
lighted in bright colors and pretty handiwork, 
and had decided fully in her own mind that she 
would be a milliner. 

Such, at this period of our narrative, was the 
Millington family. Scrupulously honest, faithful 
in every detail of their daily duties, self-respecting, 
and meriting the respect of all who knew them, 
they were good citizens, sincere Christians, and 
kind neighbors. Abiding peacefully in the sta- 
tion in which it had pleased God to place them, 
they had no dreams nor aspirations beyond it; and, 
well content to follow in their ancestors’ footsteps, 
they had no troublesome desires to find out new 
and untrodden paths for themselves. 

The youngest child in this contented household, 
'little John Millington, as he was always called, 
was as unlike his adopted brothers and sisters as a 


56 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


skylark is unlike a sparrow. He was now a 
handsome and manly little fellow of ten, perfectly 
healthy, and with a fine, erect carriage that some- 
times made Clara playfully call him, Little 
Prince Proud Foot.^^ 

Trained from his early childhood to work and 
obedience, he never thought of rebelling against 
the will of his parents, as he called, and believed 
Mr. and Mrs. Millington ; and it was Mr. Mil- 
lington’s boast that John was thoroughly trust- 
worthy, and that what he was ordered to do he 
did well, and never carelessly slighted. 

At the same time, the boy in the Millington 
family was like the one discordant note in an 
otherwise well-timed musical instrument. He was 
a good boy, they said, and they loved him and felt 
proud of him ; but, while that was all true, it was 
equally true that they did not understand him, 
and already that sad fact was beginning to sepa- 
rate him from them, and to make his life lonely. 
The boy was not one of them. Young as he was, 
he looked at things from a standpoint far removed 
from theirs. Between his tastes and theirs there 
was little sympatliy, and between his day-dreams 
and theirs as much resemblance as there is between 
the tree that has stood for long years in the forest, 
and the shipmast, whose weather-stained wood 
tells of winds and waves successfully breasted, of 
broad seas crossed and strange shores visited. 


DISCORDS, 


67 


The boy was fond of reading; Avords, even 
when he did not understand them, had a strange 
. charm for him, and the few books and papers that 
fell in liis way were treasured by him and pored 
over until he knew them almost by heart. The 
commonest picture Avas to him like a door through 
Avhich he passed into a beautiful world ; Avhile 
music, though he could not describe its influence 
upon him, touched him, as it only touches those 
Avho are made to hunger for it, and Avho ought to 
be uplifted by it. 

From his secluded life he heard little musio, 
either good or bad. The singing in church and 
Sunday-school, with an old-fashioned melodeon 
accompaniment, was all he knew of the Avonderful 
sweetness and melody of the human voice; and 
the passing of an old organ-grinder through 
Hermitsville, occasionally in the summer, AA’as an 
event that thrilled his young heart Avith delight 
for the time, and always left him, full of regret- 
ful, though childish longings. From house to 
house he Avould follow the Avonderful magician, 
Avho, by simply turning a crank, could fill the air 
Avith such harmony ; and the height of the boy’s 
ambition Avas, some time, in that enchanted future 
Avhen he should be a man — to own a hand-organ, 
and make for himself all the music his hungry 
soul craved. lie had never heard or even seen a 
piano, and though once, at the village store^ he 


58 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


had seen a fiddle, he had never, in his wildest 

% 

dreams, imagined the melody that a master 
touch could draw from one. He was simply an 
ignorant little country boy, as yet far from con- 
scious of the needs and cravings of his own na- 
ture; but in the summer of his eleventh year 
there canje a day that through all his after-life he 
never forgot; for it w'as not only to him a beau- 
tiful illustration of the power and harmony of 
sound, but it was, also, a revelation to him, of 
much that might be possible for him in life, and 
an awakening in his soul of desires that would 
never slumber again. 

It was a July afternoon; there was no school, 
and Mr. Millington took John with him on a drive 
to Millbrook, and on arriving there left him to 
amuse hihiself, while he attended to his business. 
It was the height of the summer season, and the 
little mountain village of Millbrook was crowded 
with gay city boarders. 

The large hotel, with its thronged piazzas and 
signs of busy life and activity, looked very at- 
tractive to the country boy; so attractive that, as 
he was passing by, he stopped near the gate and 
gazed with wondering eyes at this his first glimpse 
of a world and society, unlike any he had ever 
known or seen. 

He was still hanging on the gate, when through 
an open window, out on the still, sweet air, came 

t - 


V 


DISCORDS. 


59 


tlie tones of a violin. The instrument was in tlie 
hands of one whose name throughout tlie world 
is associated with its music, and, though the boy 
did not know that, lie was thrilled through every 
nerve with its pathos and melody. 

It seemed to the little listener like something 
magical and unearthly, for at one moment the 
tones were free and glad as the voice of a bird, 
and then, responsive to the will of the player, 
they grew low and tremulous as the moan of an 
aching soul. 

Spellbound and entranced, the boy listened un- 
til the wonderful playing ceased; and then, with 
the one thought that h'S must find out where it 
came from, and what made it, he ran through the 
gate, and up the broad walk, to the open window 
of a small private parlor, from whence he thought 
the strains had come. 

His ear had guided him well, and as he leaned 
on the low window-seat, and looked longingly in, 
he saw a gentleman standing in the centre of the 
room, and holding a violin, across which he was 
softly and lovingly drawing the bow. He was 
alone in the room, for though many curious and 
delighted listeners were constantly passing and 
repassing the window, no one had ventured to in- 
trude on his retirement. 

Now, as he saw the boy, he paused, half-raised 
his hand as if to warn him off, and then — drawn 


I 


I 


60 OUT OF 'THE SHADOW, 

by the soul in the young face — he came to the 
window and looked searchingly at him for a mo- 
ment. 

That, moment’s scrutiny seemed to please him, 
for after it, in a grave, but not unkind voice, he 
said: ‘^What are you doing here, boy? AYhat 
do vou want?” 

The boy was too intensely interested and too 
absorbed in the music to be self-conscious. 

‘^That,” he said eagerly, pointing to the in- 
strument the gentleman still held ; what is it?” 

^^This?” and the musician touched it with a 
gentle hand, almost as if it were human and he 
loved it. ^^This? it is a violin, boy. Did you 
never see one before ? ” 

‘‘Yes, but it didn’t do like that;” and the 
child watched the magical thing, in which it 
seemed to him a human voice must be imprisoned, 
with hungry eyes. “\Yas it that, that sung and 
cried just now ? ” 

“Sung and cried?” the stranger repeated. 
“Ay, boy, if you had a soul to understand it, it 
did both.” 

“ O sir,” and the little fellow looked up ap- 
pealingly into the serious face that was watching 
him, “wont you make it do so again? It hurt 
me, but it made me feel happy too. I must hear 
it again ; ” and tears filled the earnest eyes that 
pleaded more eloquently than the young voice. 


DISCORDS. ' 


61 


^^Come in here/^ and the musician motioned for 

the hoy to enter through the window. Now/^ 

he said, as he obeyed and stood beside him, tell 

me your name.’^ 

%> 

/‘John, sir, John Millington.’’ 

^‘And you love music, do you?” 

The little fellow pondered the question for a 
few seconds. 

I think I must love it,” he then said. ^^It 
hurts me to hear it; it makes me choke and want 
to cry sometimes ; but I’d rather be hurt by it 
than do without it. Isn’t that loving it?” 
and the clear eyes looked innocently up at the 
stranger. 

“Yes, almost too well for your own peace,” was 
the low, moody answer. 

John did not reply, and the gentleman tight- 
ened the strings of his instrument, and ran his 
fingers absently over them for a minute; and then 
in a lighter tone he asked : 

“Well, my little man, have you been hurt 
enough for one day, or would you like to suffer a 
little more?” 

John hesitated a second, the peculiar question 
puzzled him. Then, as its meaning dawned upon 
•him, his face lit up with pleasure and enthusiasm. 

“O yes, sir, if you please,” he said eagerly. 
“ I want to hear it more than anything else in 
the world.” 


6 


62 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Sit clown tlien, and keep the gentleman 

said, as he pointed to a low cushion. 

Gladly the boy obeyed, and sitting down, he 
crossed his feet, folded his arms — and with a look 
on his face that made the musician think of a half- 
awakened soul waiting for the word that should 
make it fully conscious — waited for the music. 

Melody after melody the violinist played, clos- 
ing at last with the slow, exquisite chords of 
Handeks Largo,’^ and still the boy sat at his 
feet drinking in the sweet sounds as if his whole 
soul was thirsty for them. 

There,’’ the musician said, as the last note of 
the beautiful Largo ” died away — there, my lit- 
tle man, that will do for to-day, I think.” 

With a long breath the boy came back to the 
realities of life and rose to his feet. 

I must go now,” he said, with simple direct- 
ness, my father will be looking for me, but I’ll 
never forget this day, and I thank you very 
much. May I take it a minute?” and he ex- 
tended his hand longingly for the violin. 

Without a word the gentleman gave it to 
him, and the boy examined it with an interest at 
once loving and intelligent. He noted every part 
very closely, and then took the bow and gave 
that the same careful inspection. 

Perhaps I can make one,” he said, as he re- 
turned it and looked doubtfully at the stranger. 


DISCORDS. 


63 


Perhaps/’ was tlie quiet answer, that neither 
encouraged nor discouraged. 

That it did not positively forbid was enough, 
and, with his mind full of that great perhaps,” 
little John Millington said good-bye to the fa- 
mous musician, who had opened a new world to 
him, and who — thou2:h he was never to see him 
again — had exerted an influence upon him that 
would be lasting as his life. 

For weeks after that eventful day the boy’s 
mind brooded constantly upon the possibility of 
making a violin. He easily sketched a rude 
model of one on pasteboard, and with great care 
he collected materials that he thought would an- 
swer his j)urpose. 

It was a long, and patient, and painful work. 
Sometimes his little heart exulted in what he was 
accomplishing, and then, at other times, both head 
and heart would ache from discouragement, whiley^ 
bitter tears would rain down upon th.e task he 
despaired of completing. Perhaps, even if he 
had failed, the ^vork would have been good dis- 
cipline for the boy, because of the persistent 
effort, and patient painstaking, he was forced to 
exert. 

But at last, one dull November Saturday af- 
ternoon, the hour of triumph came. The violin 
was finished ; and, rude though it was, the boy’s 
heart beat with a greater and more exultant pride 


64 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


than he knew when, long years after, he held a 
real Stradivari in his hand and called it his. 

He had been working in a rough room over 
the granary, where tools were kept, and where it 
was easy for him to labor at his task without 
being questioned or watched; but now, that the 
precious instrument was finished, he tucked it 
inside his loose jacket, clasped both arms tiglitly 
over it, and carried it in boyish pride to the 
liouse and placed it among his most treasured pos- 
sessions in his own little bedroom. 

After that, whenever he had a spare hour, little 
John was sure to steal away with his beloved vio- 
lin. The family had all seen it, and admired it, 
or laughed at it, according to their natures. No 
one had objected to it, although Mr. Millington 
looked at it with very sober eyes. 

I don^t believe,’’ he remarked, in a discon- 
tented voice to his wife, I don’t believe fiddle- 
playing ever pays as well as ploughing when it 
comes to the matter-of-fact question of earning 
one’s daily bread.” 

The child is not yet old enough to earn his 
daily bread,” Mrs. Millington answered, in her 
gentle, motherly way. 

Mr. Millington could not gainsay her, and 
there the matter rested until one dreary Decem- 
ber Sabbath, when a great loss fell on little John : 
the prelude to many other losses, and the begin- 


DISCORDS, 


65 


ning of many struggles, as well as of many self- 
conquests. 

It was late in tlie afternoon of the short winter 
day. The little boy had been to church and 
Sunday-school, and now — leaving the rest of the 
family reading quietly in the warm sitting-room, 
he went to his room, took his fiddle, and climbed 
the steep stairs leading to the old garret, in order 
to be alone and where no one could hear, or be 
disturbed by, his music. 

The garret was a dark and dreary place; its 
rafters were festooned with cobwebs, and hung 
with bunches of boneset, Indian posy, and 
other old-fashioned herbs, that, if brushed against, 
filled the air with a dry, powdery dust, and 
emitted a faint, sweet fragrance, that awakened 
memories of summer days in the fields and woods. 
Old furniture, old clothes, old papers, all the old 
things that for more than a century had been 
used and thrown aside in the old farm-house, but 
that yet, for some reason wise or otherwise, were 
considered too valuable to be destroyed, were pre- 
served in that old garret. Everything there was 
rusty, faded, dingy, and ancient, save this little 
boy, who, with his precious fiddle, was seated on 
a pile of old rag carpet, in a dusty corner, where 
the light of the December afternoon fell full upon 
him from a western window. 

That day in Sunday-school they had sung, 


E 


66 


OUT OF TEE SHADOW. 


There is a Happy Land/^ and now the boy was 
softly liuinming the simple tune, and trying to 
draw it from his rude instrument. It squeaked, 
and groaned, and uttered many discordant sounds, 
but, not at all discouraged, the child played on. 
His imagination had fairly transported him to a 
far-off happy land, and, blind and deaf to every- 
thing around him, he drew his bow and hummed 
his tune, until suddenly a heavy hand fell on his 
shoulder, and a stern voice demanded : 

John, what are you doing? 

Only playing my fiddle, father, the little 
boy answered. 

Playing the fiddle on Sunday ! That^s pretty 
work for a respectable boy, isn’t it?” Mr. Mill- 
ington said severely. 

‘‘I — I — didn’t think there was any harm in 
it,” John pleaded, in excuse. 

No, of course you didn’t,” Mr. Millington 
said, while his face and voice were both stern and 
threatening. ^‘You are bewitched by that fiddle, 
I believe. It has made an idle, do-nothing boy 
of you, and now it has tempted you to break the 
Sabbath. I don’t know where you would find a 
more dangerous plaything, and still, you are so 
infatuated with it, that you don’t think there is 
any harm in doing as you have done this after- 
noon. I am ashamed of you, John. Don’t you 
think you ought to be ashamed of yourself?” 


DISCORDS, 


67 


The little boy trembled, but he grasped his 
fiddle more tightly, and answered truthfully : 

^^No, sir. They make music in heaven on 
Sunday.’’ 

^‘Well, you have made discords enough on 
earth for one Sunday, I think, and I cannot allow 
this state of things to go on any longer. I never 
have approved of this fiddle, but I did not want 
to resort to extreme measures at first, and so I 
have waited, Jolin, and watched to see whether it 
M^ould really do you any hurt. Now, I’m satis- 
fied. I don’t want you playing the fiddle on 
Sabbath days, when you ought to be studying the 
catechism, and neither do I want you playing it 
on week days, when you ought to be working, 
and forming industrious habits for the future. 
Here, give me that fiddle, John.” 

Now understand,” Mr. Millington proceeded, 
as the boy reluctantly obeyed him and resigned 
his treasure, understand, John, that what I do 
now, I do from a sense of duty. I am sorry to 
make you suffer, but I am your best friend, and I 
feel responsible for your character, and I must 
correct your faults.” 

John did not answer, but with a troubled face 
he stood before Mr. Millington, and with a great 
fear for the fate of his fiddle he watched his 
movements. 

Slowly Mr. Millington turned the fiddle over 


y 


68 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

and examined it. You were ingenious to make 
this, John,^^ he said, in a vserious voice, ^S^ery in- 
genious; but you must learn to employ your inge- 
nuity in manufacturing useful things. Talents 
are to be traded with, the Bible tells us, you 
know, and so we must not waste them on trifles. 
There — and, raising the slender bow, with one 
grasp of his strong hands Mr. Millington snapped 
it in two. 

The boy’s face worked pitifully, and his whole 
body trembled. 

he pleaded, as Mr. Millington dropped 
the broken bow and, placing the violin on the 
floor, raised his foot to crush it — O father, don’t, 
please don’t break it.” 

I must,” Mr. Millington said solemnly. • It 
might ruin you forever, if I did not ; ” and as he 
spoke the weight of his heavy foot fell pitilessly 
on the slender toy on which the boy had toiled so 
patiently, and over which he had dreamed so 
many childish but happy dreams. 

It was the first great trial in the boy’s life, and 
as he looked at the shattered fragments of his 
treasure, it seemed to him that his heart was 
crushed as well as his fiddle. There was a chok- 
' ing sensation in his throat and he could not 
speak. Indeed words, as he well knew, would do 
him no good ; and turning from the well-meaning 
but mistaken man who had wounded him so 


DISCORDS. 


69 


deeply, he threw himself face downward on the old 
carpet, and sobbed in an agony of pain such as in 
all his young life he never had known before. 

That rude, rough fiddle had been the most pre- 
cious thing he possessed, and he loved it as only a 
child can love a soulless thing. To him it was as 
dear as if it possessed life, and to part with it 
seemed like parting with a portion of himself. 
And yet his pain was not all caused by his love 
for his fiddle. Underneath that love there was a 
strong and passionate sense of justice — now for 
the first time aroused — that, if Mr. Millington 
had been aware of it, might have relieved his 
fears that the boy never would be anything but 
an idle and dreamy sentimentalist. 

But the workings of that mysterious thing, a 
child’s soul, were hidden from Mr. Millington, 
and after watching the poor boy’s convulsive sobs 
for a few moments, he turned, and with a sober 
and resolved face, went back to the sitting-room. 
To his surprise he found Mr. Crosby there. The 
good minister had called to see his deacon about 
some church matters, and now, in his perplexity, 
Mr. Millington confided to him the story of the 
fiddle. 

I had to break it,” the stern man said, with 
emphasis, in conclusion. do not believe in 
song-singing, music-making men. They are very 
seldom sensible and practical business men. 


70 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


They are sure, almost always, to shilly-shally, 
and fail when it comes to a question of real, hard, 
matter-of-fact work, and I will not have any boy 
under my roof grow up with such habits and 
tastes, if I can help it. I think a great deal of 
this boy ; he is a good child ; but it troubles me 
to see that, as he grows older, he does not seem to 
care for anything except reading story-books, and 
see-sawing on fiddlestrings. Such boys are sure 
to make idle and sentimental men ; they are not 
reliable; they always want some one to be a 
crutch for them to lean upon, and I do not be- 
lieve the work of the world is ever done or even 
helped by them.^V 

Shades of all the great song-masters forgive 
us,^^ Mr. Crosby thought; but he answered in his 
quiet and pleasant voice : There are a great 

many different kinds of work to be done in this 
world, and each kind requires a different nature 
and mind to perform it successfully. Music is 
one of G()d\s most precious gifts to this world, 
Mr. Millington, and how many souls it has soft- 
ened and saved we shall never know, until, in 
the light of eternity, the secrets of time are re- 
vealed to us. Do not try to destroy that boy’s 
love for music, my friend ; rather let him cultivate 
it, so that it may be a means of blessing others, as 
well as himself. Where is he?” 

I left him in the garret,” Mr. Millington re- 


DISCORDS, 


71 


plied, and then, like a man whose strong preju- 
dices would allow him to see but one side of the 
question, he said emphatically: tell you, Mr. 

Crosby, if that boy grows up, as he promises to 
grow now, he will be nothing more nor less than 
a sentimental, lackadaisical, do-nothing fellow; 
and you know, as well as I do, what kind of 
blessings such men are to themselves and their 
families/^ 

^^Yes, I know,” Mr. Crosby said, with a little- 
sigh for the narrowness of mind and vision, that 
so often makes even a good man’s pathway to 
heaven full of mistakes. I know. Your view 
of this matter has much truth to support it, Mr. 
Millington, but it is a truth that, like the old 
shield, has two sides ; and it may be that while 
you see the silver side, the golden one is hidden 
from you. I hope better things of this boy than 
you predict. May I go up and see him ? ” 

have no objection,” Mr. Millington rather 
ungraciously answered: and Mr. Crosby, .who 
knew the old house well, went with gentle steps 
to the garret. 

John still lay in the corner where Mr. Milling- 
ton had left him. He was not crying now, but 
every few moments a long, sobbing breath told of 
the passion that was not subdued, but only by a 
strong effort suppressed. Mr. Crosby’s face 
grew very grave as he looked at him. He had 


72 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


never lost Ins interest in the boy, and it was a 
very gentle hand that he now placed on his head. 

Look lip, my dear little fellow, he said, 
want to talk to you.^^ 

Very slowly John raised his head, and turned 
his swollen and tear-stained face towards Mr. 
Crosby. 

^‘What is the matter Mr. Crosby asked, 
M'ith the kind thought that it would be a relief to 
the child to give utterance to his trouble. You 
look very unhappy, my boy ; tell me what has 
happen ed.^^ 

He expected to hear a long and childish account 
of the affair, but, instead, the boy said passion- 
ately : 

Father broke my fiddle, Mr. Crosby, and it 
was unjust.^^ 

Unjust Mr. Crosby repeated, a little sur- 
prised to find that argument, instead of consola- 
tion, was what the boy required. My dear 
child, you belong to your father ; he had a right 
to break your fiddle if he thought it best to do 

^^But I made it, John insisted, and it was 
mine, Mr. Crosby.’^ 

‘^And you are his,’^ Mr. Crosby said firmly. 

John did not attempt to reply, but as the min- 
ister watched him he saw that his outraged sense 
of justice was making him very rebellious. 


DISCORDS, 


73 


My dear little boy/^ Mr. Crosby said now, as 
he sat down and drew the child closer to his side, 
‘^you must not accuse your father of injustice; 
you must believe tliat he is wiser than you are, 
and that in all he does he seeks only your good.^^ 

John looked very anxious. know I ought 
to believe so,’^ he said, in a troubled voice, ‘^and 
I know father is wise and good, but — he didn^t 
make that fiddle, Mr. Crosby, and I cannot 
think people just, when my reason tells me they 
are unjust, can 

O dear, Mr. Crosby thought, am I arguing 
with a future judge? There is little danger of 
this boy becoming a sentimentalist; he is far more 
likely to be a legalist. 

Can I ? John repeated anxiously, 

No,^^ Mr. Crosby said kindly, but you must 
remember, my child, that a little boy’s reason is 
too weak to be trusted far, and the boy, himself, 
is often too ignorant to understand the difference 
between justice and injustice. Older and wiser 
minds must decide all serious questions for you, 
and if people — as may sometimes happen — do 
make mistakes, and treat you with injustice, there 
is one thing you can do, my boy ; you can forgive 
them.” 

‘‘When they are really and truly unjust?” the 
little boy asked, in a doubtful voice. 

“Yes. Then you will prove that you are 
7 


74 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


really and truly a Christian boy. You and I, 
John, have a dear friend in heaven, who suffered 
more from unjust men than any one else who ever 
lived in this world ; and when his suffering was 
greatest he could still pray, ‘ Father, forgive 
them, for they know not what they do.^ Don’t 
you want to be like that dear friend, my boy?” 
The little boy’s heart was softened, and his 
lips trembled as he answered : It isn’t easy to be 

like him, Mr. Crosby.” 

‘‘ No,” and the face that was watching the boy 
grew very tender in its sympathy, no, it is not 
easy, my boy, but the harder the battle the 
greater the honor for the soldier if he wins the 
victory. And now,” Mr. Crosby said very 
gravely, I want you to try, like a Christian boy, 
to put all these wrong thoughts about your 
father’s injustice out of your mind. Remember 
that you are a little boy, and cannot understand 
all your father’s reasons for what he does, and try 
to please your heavenly Father by honoring and 
obeying your earthly one ; will you ? ” 

There was a moment of silent thought on the 
boy’s part, and of silent prayer on the minister’s, 
and then John answered, ‘‘Yes, sir, I know I 
ought to do so, and I will try and obey my 
father, for he has always been very good to me, 
and ” — with a trembling lip — “ I know when he 
broke my fiddle he thought he was doing right, 


DISCORDS. 


75 


but — but Mr. Crosby, I don’t believe I will ever 
be able to think things just when they are un- 
just.” 

I hope you never will be,” Mr. Crosby said, 
with a smile ; only remember that you are a very 
ignorant little boy to-day, and must learn to 
know the things that are just from those that are 
unjust, before you will have any right to presume 
to decide between them. Good-bye now, my 
boy.” And leaving John in the garret Mr. 
Crosby went thoughtfully back to the sitting- 
room. 

^‘You need have no fear that that boy will 
make a weak or a sentimental man,” Mr. Crosby 
said, a little later, when he was parting with Mr. 
Millington. His strong sense of justice is to 
his character what granite is to the earth. A 
nature like his might harden early, and grow bit- 
ter and unloving in life’s conflicts, if it were not 
for the softening influences to which, so merci- 
fully, he is made susceptible. I thank God to- 
night, that he has given this child, together with 
what promises to develop into a strong legal mind, 
this intense love for music and all beautiful 
things. To me it is another illustration of that 
many-sided and far-reaching truth, that our 
Maker, in apportioning our talents, gives to each 
‘ according to his several ability,’ ” 


CHAPTER V. 


REVELATIONS. 

“ The dial 

Receives many shades, and each points to the sun ; 

The shadows are many, the sunlight is one. 

Looking up to this light, which is common to all, 

And down to those shadows on each side that fall 
In time’s silent circle, so various for each. 

Is it nothing to know that they never can reach 
So far, but that light lies beyond them forever ? 

— Owen Meredith, 

I T was quite dark in the old garret when the 
little boy brushed away his last tears, and, 
after picking up the fragments of his shattered 
treasure, groped his way down the steep stairs, 
and joined the family in the sitting-room. 

Without a word he went to the fire, dropped 
the bits of wood into it, and stood quietly by 
watching until they were burned to ashes. He 
had no thought of acting for effect, and he was 
too young to moralize, or grow sentimental over 
his loss. He had simply accepted the facts of the 
present, from which he could not hope to escape. 
Some day — and his young heart throbbed with 
exultation at the thought of that wonderful some 
( 76 ) 


REVELATIONS. 


77 


day — when he was a man, and it was right for 
him to do so, he would own a violin, and satisfy 
his soul with its melody ; but now, while he was 
a little boy, he would try to please his father, and 
not complain because he could not, at the same 
time, please himself. 

It was a brave resol v^e for a young boy, and 
the effort to keep it proved a good discipline, and 
one that strengthened him to meet greater losses, 
and endure harder self-denials. Two years more 
went peacefully by ; none but pleasant changes 
had come to the Millingtons, and on little John 
— as they still called him — the passing years had 
left no traces to be regretted. They had only 
added a few more inches to his height, and 
touched his mind with the thoughtfulness that 
marks the time when the young soul bids farewell - 
to childhood, and begins to hear mysterious voices 
uttering prophecies of its future. 

No whisper, or even hint of his true history, 
ever had reached the boy. He still believed 
liimself the child of his adoptive parents, and al- 
though Mrs. Millington often said to her husband, 

‘‘ he will have to know the truth some day,’^ 
she agreed with Mr. Millington in not wishing 
to tell him that truth. They did not believe now 
that ?iis parentage ever would be ascertained, and 
it seemed to them a needless cruelty to shadow 
his young life with its sad mystery. 


I 


78 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


But it is a mistaken kindness that keeps such 
knowledge from a child, or that waits until the 
young soul is thoughtful enough to be deeply 
wounded by it before imparting it. Bitter truths 
may be whispered from lip to lip for a long time, 
before they reach the heart they are destined to 
bruise, but reach it they surely will some day, 
and the fate of a life, the destiny even of a soul, 
may depend upon the way in which those truths 
are told. 

It was the day after Christmas, and a brilliant 
winter morning. The day before John Milling- 
ton had celebrated his thirteenth birthday, and 
with a greater sense of dignity and importance 
than he ever had known before, he prepared for 
school that morning, and, with a beaming face, 
drew on the new rubber boots, fur cap, and warm, 
red mittens, that had been at once his Christmas 
and birthday presents. 

He felt very old and manly that morning, and 
he drew himself up proudly, and trudged with 
cheerful courage through the deep snow to the 
old school-house, where he was receiving his edu- 
cation. 

John was a favorite with his school-mates, and 
it was seldom that anything occurred to mar the 
liarmony and good-will of their studies and sports. 
That day, however, the new boots and warm 
mittens and cap, were the innocent causes of a 


REVELATIONS, 


79 


quarrel, that changed the face of the world, and 
shadowed the sunshine of life for John Milling- 
ton. 

^^1^11 tell you what we’ll do, boys,” he said 
gayly to his school-mates, when at twelve o’clock 
they were dismissed for a nooning of an hour. 

Let’s make a snow fort, and then we will divide 
our forces, and one part shall be the British and 
hold the fort, and the other part shall be the 
Americans and storm it.” 

‘^All right,” shouted the boys, and in great 
glee the fort was begun. It was a bitter day ; 
the icy wind seemed full of needles, and hands, 
and feet, and ears soon felt as if they were 
pierced, and tingled and ached with the cold. It 
was a day wlien warm clothing was sure to be ap- 
preciated, and in his boyish satisfaction, John 
could not help openly exulting in his own com- 
fortable Christmas gifts. 

Whew ! ” he said, as he rolled a great ball of 
snow to its place in the fort, whew ! this weather 
makes a fellow feel the value of warm mittens 
and a fur cap, doesn’t it?” And he turned with 
a laughing face to the boy who stood nearest him. 

John had no intention of hurting his school- 
mate’s feelings; he had spoken thoughtlessly, out 
of the overflowing gladness of his heart, but 
unfortunately the boy to whom he spoke had re- 
ceived no Christmas gifts, and destitute of new 


80 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


boots, and crimson mittens, and a fur cap himself, 
he looked with envious eyes on one who possessed 
them, and felt — as envious natures usually do — 
very much as if John Millington, since he was so 
fortunate as to own what his companion did not, 
had personally wronged him. 

^‘You think you are somebody pretty grand, 
don’t you now, John Millington ? ” he said taunt- 
ingly, ^^but it will take more than new boots, and 
red mittens, and a fur cap to make you anybody 
worth noticing, I can tell you.” 

They’ll help, though/’ John said playfully, 
and then, prompted by his good-nature, he added, 
I wish you had them too, Sam.” 

Save your good wishes for those who’ll thank 
you for them,” Sam said wrathfully. I’m bet- 
ter than you are, if I ain’t got such fine clothes, 
John Millington.” 

O well,” John answered carelessly, if you 
think yourself better than I am, Sam, it’s all 
right, and you ought to be satisfied.” 

Sam frowned angrily, and the next minute, as 
if a new thought had struck him, he exclaimed : 
say, John Millington, the Americans can’t do 
nothing agajnst the British without a Washing- 
ton, and now I want to know who’s going to be 
Washington ? ” 

^^Well,” John answered, while he stopped roll- 
ing snow and beat his firms vigo?:ously to warm 


REVELATIONS. 


81 


them, ^Svho shall be? Boys, before we begin 
war we must play Congress and choose a Washing- 
ton. Come now, and vote him in.^^ 

First in war, first in peace, and first in the 
hearts of Ids countrymen,^’ laughed one of the 
boys. Johnny, I guess you are more like Wash- 
ington than any of us, and since you were the one 
to plan the fort, I think we will let you storm it.” 
I guess you wont then,” shouted Sam. I’m. 
going to be an American myself, and I aint going 
to be led by John Millington, I can tell you.” 
^^Want to be Washington yourself, don’t you, 
Sam Burns?” sneeringly asked the boy who had 
nominated John. 

It aint no affair of yours what I want,” Sam 
answered, in great anger. I know what I don’t 
want, and wont have. I wont have John Mil- 
lington for Washington, and you sha’n’t make 
him Washington.” 

He will make a hundred times better Wash- 
ington than you will, Sam Burns,” retorted an- 
other of the boys. He can keep his temper, 
which is a good deal more than you can do.” 

Then let him keep his place, too,” fired Sam. 
^AVasliington was a gentleman; beggars aint no 
right to take his place.” 

^^Well, if you want to take it, I’d advise you 
to stop breaking all the rules in the grammar,’* 
replied John’s defender. 


82 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


clon^t make no difference what rules I 
break/^ Sam answered defiantly, “ there is one 
thing I wont break, and that’s my word, and- I 
tell you, John Millington sha’n’t be Washington.” 
He sliall be, he shall be,” shouted a number 
of the boys. 

No, he sha’n’t be,” shouted in their turn sev- 
eral of the boys who had placed themselves on 
Sam’s side. 

Schoolboys’ tempers are usually high, and 
easily aroused, and for a few minutes, on the 
snow-covered play-ground, the dispute over the 
imaginary Washington raged as fiercely as if a 
serious question, of vital interest to the country, 
had been under discussion. At first John re- 
mained silent, and took no part in the dispute. 

‘^The Congress ought to decide for itself,” he 
said; but soon, as Sam and the boys who fol- 
lowed him grew more vehement in their opposi- 
tion, all his pride and spirit were aroused, and 
turning to the division that supported him, he 
said with great decision : 

Boys, if you want me to lead you when you 
storm that fort. I’ll do it. The British couldn’t 
beat the Americans under Washington, and now I 
would like to see them beat us.” 

^^You would, would you?” shouted Sam. 
^^Well, if you would like to see them, you’ll be 
gratified, for they’ll do it, there’s no doubt about 


BEVELATIONS. 


83 


that. Boys that aint got no name, and no family, 
and don’t know who their fathers and mothers 
are, aint going to beat the great British army, and 
they had better be careful how they pretend they 
are Washingtons.” 

For shame,” called out one of the oldest boys ; 
but Sara was in no mood to heed him. 

I aint got nothin’ to be ashamed of,” he 
shouted back. It’s the truth, and he can’t 
deny it. Here, you fine, make-believe Washing- 
ton ” — and the excited boy turned fiercely to 
John — ^^you just stand out there, in your fine 
boots, and mittens, and cap, and tell me who your 
father is — if you can.” 

John drew himself up with all his boyish dig- 
nity, and looked with flashing eyes at his ques- 
tioner. 

^^You just go to Mr. Millington’s house, and 
ask for him, and he will tell you who my father 
is,” he said, with spirit. 

he will, will he?” sneered Sam. ^^If I 
thought he would, I would go this minute, for it 
would be a piece of news everybody in Hermits- 
ville would give something to know. But he 
can’t tell me, nor you can’t, nor anybody else. 
You aint got no father, and you aint got no name. 
You aint anybody, and you never will be any- 
body. You are nothing but a poor foundling Mr. 
Millington has taken care of out of charity. I 


84 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


know all about you, for I heard my folks talking 
last night when they thought I was asleep/^ 

‘^Well, next time you play listener, I hope you 
will try to listen to people who are telling the 
truth John said, in a voice expressive of great 
contempt. 

^^That is just what I did do, last night,’^ Sam 
retorted. It was the solemn' truth, every 
word I heard, and you can’t deny it. If you 
can, now is your chance;” and the angry boy 
planted himself defiantly in front of John. 

Not one word of all that Sam had said did 
John believe; but his heart swelled with indig- 
nation that any one should dare to utter such 
cruel falsehoods — as he thought them — and he 
straightened his boyish figure, and looked at Sam 
with an expression of withering scorn. 

^‘You don’t deserve the notice of an honest 
boy, Sam Burns,” he said, while his eyes blazed, 
and his young voice trembled with anger, ^^and 
it isn’t necessary to deny lies like yours: they’ll 
prove themselves false, without any words from 
me ; but if you will come home with me and ask 
my mother, she” — 

^^Your mother!” sneeringly interrupted Sam. 
^^That is a good one! You aint seen your 
mother, nor has anyone else in Hermitsville, since 
the day she left you in Mrs. Millington’s parlor. 
Pretty mother she was, wasn’t she, now ? ” 


REVELATIONS. 


85 


^^You lie/^ trembled on John’s lips, but some 
strange influence kept him from uttering the 
words. 

The play-ground was very quiet now : the 
boys had gathered in a circle about the two con- 
testants, but they no longer showed any disposi- 
tion to take part in the dispute. They were all 
silent, and their young faces looked very serious, 
as if they felt that this was more than an ordi- 
nary quarrel, and one whose consequences would 
be sorrowful and lasting. With a quick im- 
pulse, and a sudden longing for sympathy, John 
turned and looked at his school-mates. Not one 
of them spoke, but each boy, as he met John’s 
eyes, looked down and tried to appear uncon- 
scious. 

^^Boys,” John shouted fiercely, boys, if you 
are my friends, telTSam Burns that he lies.” 

Not a boy spoke, or even moved. 

Young though he was, John’s face grew very 
pale. The fire in his eyes went out suddenly, 
and an eager, appealing look succeeded it. 

Boys,” he said again, and this time his voice 
trembled pitifully, boys, if you are my friends, 
tell me that you don’t believe Sam Burns.” 

The silence of the play-ground was oppressive. 
Not a boy spoke, and there was no sound save 
the voice of the icy wind, that sobbed, as it 
swept by, as if it sympathized with the young 
8 ' 


86 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


heart that was learning there the saddest secret of 
its life. Breathlessly John waited. Slowly the 
hands of the old clock in the school-house tower 
marked off the minutes, one — two — three — and 
still no voice broke that sad silence. 

I don^t believe it/^ John shouted then. 
^^Boys^^ — with one last appeal to his school-mates 
- — boys, you don’t believe it, do you ? ” 

Some one must speak. The boys all felt that, 
and one of the oldest of their number stepped 
now to John’s side, and laid his arm kindly 
across his shoulders. 

Johnny,” he said gently — while, boy though 
he was, tears filled his eyes as he spoke — 
Johnny, I wouldn’t mind it so much. It isn’t 
your fault. We are all your friends. Sam” — and 
he looked unspeakable wrath at that heartless boy 
— ought to be whipped for talking so.” 

I only told him the truth,” Sam grumbled, in 
self-defence. 

^‘Well, what if it was the truth,” thundered 
back John’s would-be comforter, ^Svere you 
called upon to publish it? I’ve known it a 
good while, but I haven’t twitted Johnny with it, 
because he couldn’t help it, and he isn’t to be 
blamed for somebody else’s wrong-doing.” 

^^I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell it,” Sam 
growled ; he would have to know it some day.” 
^‘Well^ I hope you will take pleasure in re- 


REVELATIONS, 


sr 


membering that you told him/’ the boy answered 
severely. You are welcome to all the honor you 
will gain from it. None of us will envy you. The 
most of us have known it for some time, but we 
have not been mean enough to cast it at poor 
Johnny. Truth that only hurts and does no 
good, had better never be told, my mother says.” 

It was the truth then. Dazed and bewildered 
as he was, John realized fully now that bitter 
fact, and with a boy’s vivid imagination he in- 
stantly magnified every painful feature of the 
case. He could deny nothing. His home was 
only his through charity. He had no right to 
tlie name he bore. He had no parents — worse 
than that — his mother had deserted him. Life 
seemed to have grown, in those few minutes, as 
cold as the snow-covered ground on which he 
stood, and as the clock and the teacher’s bell 
summoned the boys to their afternoon tasks, 
he turned with a despairing cry and ran — not 
towards his home — but towards the woods that 
bordered Hermitsville on the north. There, at 
least, there would be no curious eyes to watch 
him, and no cruel tongues to whisper of his 
shame and disgrace. 

Young as John was in years, his mind was 
unusually mature and thoughtful, and he com- 
prehended, far more clearly than many boys of 
his age would have done, just what his position 


88 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


was, and his proud, sensitive nature writhed in 
agony under his mortification and humiliation. 

No name, no family, no father, no mother; 
nothing but a foundling. He heard those cruel 
words everywhere. The pitiless wind seemed to 
wdiisper them as he struggled against it, and 
tramped desperately on through the dark woods. 
There did not seem to be any love or any place 
for him in the cold world. The Millingtons had 
only cared for him out of charity. He ground 
liis teeth as he remembered those bitter words, 
and then, suddenly, as he raised his mournful 
eyes to the blue heavens, the first doubt he had 
ever known entered his young soul. 

Was there a God? If there was, could he 
wait so peacefully in heaven while such cruel 
things were done upon his earth ? Could he be 
our Father, when he suffered such bitter wrong to ^ 
befall the innocent little children who had no 
power to defend themselves ? 

There came no answer to those sorrowful 
doubts, and on and on, with little thought of 
where he was going or of what might befall him, 
the wretched boy tramped. 

It was just sunset when, in what seemed the 
heart of the snow-banked forest, he came to a 
rude hut, built for the shelter of wood -cutters. 

A man standing in the low door-way looked 
curiously at the boy as he approached. 


REVELATIONS, 


89 


Halloo/^ he called; Spears to me youVe a 
small boy to be ploddin^ through this deep snow 
this time o^ day. AVhat are you doiii^ here, hey ? 

John was exhausted from his long tramp and 
almost numb with the cold. I don^t know 
what I’m doing/’ he said, as he stopped in front 
of the man. 

A peculiar expression crossed the man’s face 
as he observed the boy more closely. Don’t 
you know?” he said dryly. ^^Then it’s time 
you found out. Where are you goin,’ hey ? ” 
Nowhere,” John said drearily. 

To nowhere, be you ? Well, I reckon that 
is a pretty poor place for you or any one to be 
travelling to. I guess you’d better come in here 
and warm yourself a spell ’fore you go any 
further to’ard' that unknown land.” And the 
rough-spoken but kind-hearted man laid his 
strong hand on the boy’s arm, and half led, half 
dragged him into the hut. 

It was a j)oor, rude place; but a good fire, 
that was burning in an old stove, gave out a 
cheerful warmth, and the half-frozen boy dropped 
down with a sigh of relief on the bench the man 
offered him. 

An old tea-pot was bubbling on the stove, and 
the man quickly filled a cup from it. 

Drink this,” he said, in a tone of command, 
and John meekly obeyed. The tea was strong 


90 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


and hot, and under its stimulating influence he 
quickly revived. 

The man watched him with keen and observing 
eyes. 

What’s your name ? ” lie demanded, 

^^John Mill — ” the boy began, and then 
stopped, arrested by the morbid thought that he 
had no right to that name. 

Forgot the rest of it, have you?” the man 
asked, in a peculiar voice. ^‘Well, where do you 
come from ? ” 

Hermitsville.” 

Hermitsville ! I thought so.” And the man 
nodded, as if settling some question* in his own 
mind. ‘^Aint you Mr. Millington’s boy, what 
they call John ? ” he asked, in a moment. 

^^Yes,” John answered. 

Once more the man nodded, and fastening his 
eyes on the boy’s face, he seemed to study it 
closely; but several minutes passed before he 
spoke again. 

Well,” he said slowly, when at last he broke 
the silence, Hermitsville is a pretty smart tramp 
from here. Be you runnin’ away?” 

The sharp question stung the boy’s conscience. 
He suddenly remembered the affectionate kindness 
he had- always received in the home, and he now 
thought of the anxiety he knew they would feel 
there if he did not soon return. 


EE VELA TIONS, 


91 


The man watclied him with his sliarp eyes, 
see you be/^ he said, witli a reproachful shake 
of liis head. now, I never heard of any 

boy, who ran away from his home, who ever did 
or got much good. What do you s’pose folks in 
Hermitsville are thinkin^ about you now, hey? 

Oh, I don’t knoWj” the forlorn boy fairly 
sobbed, I cannot tell you about it, but I am in 
great trouble.” 

The man looked at him with a puzzled and 
somewhat anxious expression on his shrewd face. 

^^You aint been stealin’, have you ?” he asked, 
with some suspicion in his voice. 

John’s high sense of honor was hurt. ^^No,” 
he said, with vehemence. 

This quick and impetuous tone seemed to con- 
vince the wood-cutter. I don’t believe you 
have,” he said; ‘^thieves don’t speak like you — 
nor come from that stock either,” he added, in a 
whisper to himself. ^‘Well,” he said again, as 
he proceeded with his catechism, ‘^^you aint done 
nothin’ wrong, nothin’ to be ashamed of, have 
you ? ” 

^^No,” John said again, without hesitation. 

^^And yet,” the man said seriously, ^^you are 
runnin’ away from your home, and. from them 
that have always been your best friends. See 
here, boy, I’ve lived a good many long years in 
this world, and sometimes I’ve found it a pretty 


92 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


hard place, but I’ll tell you this : it aint no use 
to try to run away from trouble. When it comes 
to you, you must jest stand and meet it like a 
man. And if you didn’t make it yourself, if you 
aint done nothin’ wrong yourself, you needn’t be 
afraid. There’s One above ” — and the man 
glanced reverently upward — ‘Svho will help you, 
and you’ll live it down. I know. I’ve had 
some experience, and I tell you ” — and the man’s 
face looked very mournful, while his voice trem- 
bled with feeling — it is only them who make 
their own trouble, by their own wrong-doings, 
who need have any fear of the judgment, cither 
in this world or the next.” 

John did not answer, and the man was silent 
for some time; presently he spoke again. 

There,” he said, ‘^you may sit there till you 
are pretty well rested, and then you and me will 
travel back to Hermitsville. I ’spect there has 
been tears enough shed about you already in this 
world, and I aint goin’ to give no woman a 
chance to stay awake and cry about you to-night, 
if I can help it.” And, as if he felt relieved by 
this energetic resolve, the wood -cutter took his 
tea-pot and proceeded to prepare himself a cup of 
tea. But even while doing so he still watched 
the boy closely, and more than once during the 
next hour, while John slept on the bench, the 
low words were whispered over him : 


REVELATIONS, 


93 


I aint quite sure ; it’s hard to get a hold of 
the truth, but I b’liev^e there’s been more crying 
of nights ’cause of you tlian there ever ought to 
have been. I aint sure, and I wont say nothing 
now; but I’ll find out, and then I’ll do justice.” 

The afternoon school had long been over, and 
Mrs. Millington’s early supper was prepared, and 
the family gathered around the table, and still 
John did not return to his home. Growing un- 
easy at his unusual tardiness, Mr. Millington, as 
the twilight deepened, went out to seek for him. 
He had gone but a short distance when he met 
Sam Burns. 

Have you seen anything of Johnny, Sam ? ” 
he asked, expecting to hear of some late snow- 
ball battle that had detained the scholars. 

To his surprise Sam sullenly answered, No ; 
aint seen nothing of him since noon.” 

Since noon?” Mr. Millington repeated; why, 
where has he been since noon ? ” 

Don’t know,” Sam said defiantly ; walking 
off the sulks, I guess.” 

Something evidently was wrong, and Mr. Mill- 
ington was not a man to waste his words. 

^‘What do you mean, Sam Burns?” he said, in 
a stern voice, as he grasped the boy by his coat- 
collar. Tell me the truth at once, or I will make 
you tell it. Where is John, and what is the mat- 
ter with him ? ” 


94 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Thoroughly frightened, Sam whimpered out 
the truth. 

He got mad, Mr. Millington, because — be- 
cause — I told him the truth.’^ 

^^You told him the truth. What truth de- 
manded Mr. Millington. 

/‘Nothing — only — that he wasn^t your boy, 
nor nobody’s boy,” Sam, in a voice at once reluc- 
tant and defiant, confessed. 

“You — dog!” Mr. Millington said, in the heat 
of his stern indignation, and the stout cane he 
carried fell with no gentle force on Sam’s cring- 
ing shoulders. “You have done a mean and 
cruel thing, that no boy with a heart could 
have done,” he said severely; “and now, if you 
are satisfied with your good day’s work, and do 
not want to be responsible for Johnny’s death, go 
and ask your father to come and help me look for 
him.” 

Several hours later a company of men, who 
were searching the forest for the missing boy, met 
the wood-cutter leading him home. 

“Be you lookin’ for this youngster?” the man 
inquired. “ Well, here he is. I’ve done what I 
could to keep him in this world a spell longer, 
and now I reckon the doctor will have to see 
what he can do. But, look here, boy,” and the 
wood-cutter took John’s hand and held it in his 
own as he spoke, “ no matter what your trouble 


REVELATIONS. 


95 


is, don^t yon ever try to run away from it. You 
stay right here, where you can be found when 
you are wanted, and you jest do your duty and 
bear your trouble like a man, and then maybe it 
will prove a blessing to you yet.^^ And with an- 
other hard pressure of the boy’s hand, the man, 
who seemed strangely agitated, resigned him to 
the care of his friends. 

Quickly as they could, they carried him home; 
but many days passed before he could tell his 
story, or even listen to the consoling words of 
those who tenderly watched him. Pneumonia, 
with its burning fever and racking cough, fol- 
lowed the exposure of that trying day, and for 
^veeks the young life, that had been so cruelly 
wounded, seemed just within the grasp of the 
strong angel who guards the darkened way that 
leads home to the Father’s house. 

But, though the shadow had fallen upon his 
life, his work was still undone, and slowly but 
surely the tide on which he had been drifting 
heavenward retreated, and left him still in this 
world, in which, if for him — as for all — there 
was much to be suffered and endured, there was 
also much to be learned, and much work that 
would bring its own precious reward with it, for 
him to do for his brothers upon earth, and for his 
Father in heaven. 


CHAPTER VI. 


RESOLUTIONS. 

Belief, or unbelief, 

Bears upon life, determines its whole course, 

Begins at its beginning /^ — Robert Browning, 

I T was the last of December when John was 
taken ill, but before his health was fully restored 
it was early spring, and in the blue of the sky, the 
warmth of the wind, and the ripple of waters that 
had long been ice-bound, one could read the glad 
assurance that the time of the singing of birds had 
fully come. 

Everything in nature was happy and contented 
with its lot, and even the discontented faces of 
repining men and women looked brighter and 
more hopeful; but John Millington, though now 
perfectly well and able to perform all his tasks at 
home and in school, seemed greatly changed. He 
brooded constantly now over the mystery of his 
jiarentage ; the bitter knowledge that he had been 
deserted made him feel disgraced ; even the kind- 
ness of his adoptive parents could not cause him to 
forget that he was the recipient of their charity, 
and the humiliating consciousness that he was a 
( 96 ) 


RESOL UTIONS, 


97 


nameless boy, at whom the neighbors looked with 
compassionate wonder, and of whom they talked 
in curious whispers, threatened to mar his naturally 
genial and affectionate disposition, and make him 
morbid, reserved, and suspicious. 

All that could be told him of his history Mrs. 
Millington, with a mother’s kindness, had told 
him. She had described his own mother to him 
as clearly as she could, and she had'shown him the 
little garments and the necklace that through all 
the years she had carefully preserved. With eager 
eyes the poor boy had examined them, vainly 
hoping to find some mark that might give him at 
least a clue to his name, but his search was fruit- 
less. The necklace especially had interested him. 
There, at least, was something that hinted of his 
family and name, but the hint was too vague to be 
understood, and with a feeling of despair he replaced 
the mementos of his infancy in the box and con- 
signed them once more to Mrs. Millington’s care. 

In the long weeks of sickness through which he 
had passed John had matured rapidly. The care- 
less freedom of a thoughtless, light-hearted boy was 
gone from him forever, and, sadder still, it seemed 
as if the innocent child-faith, that believes in 
goodness because it has no knowledge of evil, was 
likewise lost. 

“ Tis simple that betrayal by mother^s love 
Should bring despair of God’s, too.” 

9 G 


*• » 


98 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


And the more, in those first bitter days, the poor 
boy tlmught about his mother, the weaker grew 
liis confidence in the heavenly Father, in whom he 
had been taught implicitly to believe. 

Many thoughts and many plans passed in those 
days through his mind. What should he do? 
Where should he go ? What should he be ? Every 
night, when he went to bed, he pondered on those 
questions, and every morning, when he arose, they 
started up anew to harass and puzzle him. With 
the affectionate anxiety of a father, Mr. Millington 
watched the boy. Something must be done and 
done quickly if he were not to become a gloomy, 
morose creature, and Mr. Millington, with his 
sound, practical common-sense, soon decided what 
course to pursue. 

There is nothing' like work for curing the 
heart-ache,’^ he said wisely to his wife. When 
the hands are filled with work that must be done, 
the mind is forced to attend to that alone, and it 
lias no time to think of troubles_orae and unanswer- 
able questions; and sometimes, to have no leisure 
for thinking is the greatest blessing a sad heart 
can have. My mind is made up. I am going to 
take John from school and apprentice him to Wil- 
liam.’^ 

^‘He won’t like it,” Mrs. Millington said, with 
much positiveness. 

I don’t expect him to like it. In this contrary 


% 


RESOL UTIONS. 


99 


world we are pretty apt not to like what is good 
for us. I learned that long ago. And so I shall 
not ask the boy to like it. I shall simply tell him 
to do it because it is his duty.’’ 

I am sorry,” Mrs. Millington said gently, 
that duty should be made the hard thing I know 
that will seem to him.” 

‘^It wont hurt him,” Mr. Millington replied, 
with confidence. Dnty very seldom comes to us 
in the shape of pleasure excursions, and if John 
is to do a man’s work in this world he must not be 
fed on sugar-plums. Regular hours and steady 
employment are just what he wants at present. 
Whether a man is a prince or a peasant, it cannot 
hurt him to know how to drive a nail straight, and 
handle a saw and a plane. There is nothing like 
having a useful work to do, and doing it faith- 
fully, to give one a feeling of self-respect; and 
self-respect is just what John is in danger of losing 
now, because he is constantly thinking of himself 
as a nobody.” 

‘^Very well,” Mrs. Millington answered, in 
accordance with her life-long custom ; ‘‘I believe 
you know best, father.” 

I am sure I do,” Mr. Millington replied, in 
his usual positive manner: and, in fulfilment of 
his plans, a day or two more saw John in his 
adopted brother William’s shop, and occupied from 
morning until night with boards and tools. 


100 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


It was honest and clean work, that, though it 
might roughen the hands, left no stain upon the 
conscience; and though — as Mrs. Millington had 
foreseen — the boy did not like it, it was a good 
discipline for him, and his strong sense of duty 
made him faithful and obedient. At first he was 
little more than an verrand-boy in the busy shop, 
and subject to the orders of all the workmen, but 
good lessons in humility were thus taught him, 
and it did him no harm to come in close contact 
with energetic working-men, many of them full 
of original ideas and quaint forms of expression, 
and all of them strongly impressed with the im- 
portance of faithfulness in the smallest details of 
their work, if they would have that work permanent 
and abiding. 

The spring passed, and summer with its dreamy 
days, in which it is sweet to do nothing, succeeded, 
and still John labored in the cabinet-shop. Late 
one afternoon he was collecting and sorting the 
pieces of wood with which the floor of the shop 
was strewn, when ^yilliam Millington, as he was 
passing by, stopped to speak to him. 

Don’t like this work much, do you, Johnny ? ” 
he said kindly. 

The boy simply shook his head, as if he thought 
a verbal assertion of such a self-evident fact as his 
dislike of his task unnecessary, and went on sorting 
the bits of lumber. 


RESOLUTIONS. 


•101 


William watched him with keen and thouo:htful 
eyes for a few moments. 

It wont hurt you, Johnny, even if you do 
not like it,’’ he said soon. It is a good lesson to 
learn how to choose the valuable and reject the 
worthless, no matter in what school you are taught 
it. See here; that is hard wood ” — ^and William 
picked up a narrow strip of black walnut John 
had thrown aside — save that; it will come in 
use for })icture-mouldings if for nothing else. 
But you needn’t save that,” he continued, as 
John laid a piece of pine wood on the j)ile to be 
preserved ; it is s{)lit and warped ; no man with 
a conscience would use that in work he wished 
considered first-rate.” 

John looked admiringly at William. I wish 
I could see the use and uselessness of these pieces 
as plainly as you do,” he said; I wouldn’t mind 
sorting them then.” 

Perhaps then you would be fit for better 
M^ork,” William answered. ‘‘You see you want 
to be at the top, without the trouble of climbing, 
Johnny. It is natural, I suppose, to feel so, but 
it is not natural for any one to do great things 
well, who has not first worked patiently witji 
small ones. No matter whether you are in a 
college or a carpenter’s shop, there is no royal way 
to the top. The ladder always stands upon the 
ground, and if you mean to climb it you must 


/ 


102 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


begin at the bottom, and go np round by 
roiind.’^ 

Tiiat^s true/^ John said, ^^and I’m willing to 
climb, but — ” he added, almost in a whisper, I 
would like the privilege of choosing my own 
ladder.” 

William had turned to go, but he caught the 
low words and came back to the boy. 

If you had that privilege, what ladder would 
you choose, John?” he asked kindly. 

I would choose one on which I could make a 
name for myself, since I don’t possess one now,” 
John answered quickly. 

^ Good and faithful servant’ is about the best 
name any man can have — we will all know that 
some day — ” William said, in a sober voice ; and 
you can gain that name, Johnny, by working with 
tools, as well as with books. But don’t despair, 
lad ; if your feet are meant to climb another ladder 
than the one set for them here, there is no fear but 
they’ll find it, though — ” and William’s tone told 
of disappointment — ^^I did hope to keep you with 
me here in the shop, John.” 

I will stay with you, if you really need me,” 
John answered gratefully. 

William nodded ; but, saying to himself, I want 
no sacrifice,” he left the boy, and that evening 
called on Mr. Crosby. 

Soon after Mr. Crosby came into the shop. 


EESOL UTIOXS, 


103 


John/’ he said, as the boy, intent on his work, 
with a respectful bow was hurrying by him, 
^^John, I am going fishing this morning, and your 
brother says, if you like, you may have a holiday. 
Will you take it, and go with me?” 

John’s pale face flushed with pleasure. The 
prospect of escaping from tliat hot shop, witli its 
incessant click of tools, and whir of macliinery, 
and going off for a long day in the woods, was 
indeed delightful. 

I thought you would like to go, John,” Mr. 
Crosby said, with a smile, as he rightly interpreted 
the boy’s expression, ^^and so I brought lunch- 
basket, and lines, and hooks with me, and we can 
start at once, if you are ready.” 

We cannot start too soon for me, sir,” John 
answered eagerly, and soon he and Mr. Crosby 
had left Hermitsville behind them, and climbed 
one of the low, green hills that sheltered the little 
village on the west. 

They stopped at last on the brink of a crystal 
brook, that laughed and babbled as it caught the 
sunshine and rippled over the stones, and sent its 
tiny rills down to the roots of the whispering 
ferns, and multitudinous green things that grew 
in glad profusion on its borders. 

Here is just the spot for trout, John,” Mr. 
Crosby said, as he pre})ared his own line and 
showed the boy how to manage his. 


104 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Two or three fruitless but pleasant hours were 
spent in trolling for trout that, though they ever 
and anon splashed gayly in the clear water, were 
all too wary to be cauglit, and then the lunch- 
basket was opened and Mr. Crosby and John sat 
down on a green knoll to enjoy its contents. 

How wonderful God’s works are,” Mr. Crosby 
said, as his eyes turned with reverent and loving 
interest from one to another of the beautiful objects 
around them. * John, do you know anything of 
the natural sciences?” 

‘^No, Mr. Crosby,” John answered humbly. 
You have a wonderful world before you then, to 
investigate and become acquainted with. Philos- 
ophy, chemistry, botany, astronomy, and geol- 
ogy — you will be glad to know something about 
them, lam sure, John.” 

Yes,” John answered, ^^1 would be glad to 
know something about everything, Mr. Crosby;” 
and then, as if the words must be spoken, he ex- 
claimed quickly, but, first of all, I want to know 
something about myself, Mr. Crosby.” 

1 can tell you that yo!i are a strong, healthy 
boy, with a life before you that will be very much 
what you will to make it,” Mr. Crosby said, as he 
watched the boy. ‘‘ ^Vl)at more do you want to 
know, John ? ” 

^^This” — and now the words came with im- 
petuous earnestness — I want to know who I am, 


EESOL UTIONS, 


105 


Mr. Crosby, and what my name is. It is dreadful 
not to have a riglit even to a name.’’ And the 
boy’s voice- trembled as he spoke. 

Yes, but there is something still more dreadful, 
my boy, and that is, to have a right to a good and 
honorable name and then disgrace it.” 

‘‘I would never disgrace mine if I knew it,” 
John said proudly. 

Ah, yes, my boy, so we all say in our early 
youth, before we have struggled with the Avorld 
and encountered its terrible temptations,” Mr. 
Crosby answered gravely. There is a time, in 
every boy’s life, I believe, when he feels as self- 
confident as Phaeton, and thinks, like him, that 
he can drive the chariot of the sun iinerrin^lv ; 
but when the stern tests are applied, when trials 
and temptations come, to prove what manner of 
men we are, how few come out of their conflicts 
conquerors. What multitudes meet such irretriev- 
able defeat and ruin, that with mournful hearts we 
say. Good had it been for them if they had never 
been born. My boy,” and Mr. Crosby’s tone 
awed and subdued John, ^Mielieve me. Nothing 
but the firmest Christian principle can trium- 
phantly resist the temptations of life. Only the 
Christian, who is clad in the armor of God, in 
the hours of fiery trial, having done all, can stand. 
Are you a. Christian, John?” 

I — I don’t know, Mr. Crosby,” the boy an- 


106 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


swered humbly. I am not sure I know what a 
Christian is.^^ 

Christian/’ Mr. Crosby gently answered, 
^^is one whose highest ambition is to do liis 
Master’s will ; who asks no nobler name than 
^servant of God;’ and who seeks no greater honor 
than to be owned and known by Christ. Do those 
words describe you, John ?” 

Slowly and sadly the boy shook his head. 

wish they did, Mr. Crosby,” he faltered. 

I feel that it would be grand to be such a Chris- 
tian, but, oh, I cannot help it” — and John’s voice 
choked as he spoke. I do want something else, 
Mr. Crosby. I want the place among men that 
only an honorable name can give me. I want to 
know who my parents were; I want to know the 
family I belong to ; and until I do know all that, 
I never” — and in his earnestness the boy clinched 
his hand and beat the ground — ^^can be satisfied.” 
A moisture dimmed Mr. Crosby’s eyes while he 
listened to the earnest boy. Himself the noble 
descendent of a long line of honorable Christian 
ancestors, and prizing that ancestry as his richest 
earthly inheritance, he could well sympathize 
with John’s intense desire to know his family and 
his name. But he would not hold out to the boy 
any false hopes: he did not believe that the shadow 
under which he was groping would ever be lifted, 
and he felt that he was called upon — not to en- 



RESOLUTIONS, 


107 


courage dreams that could never be realized — but 
to nerve the young soul with courage to bear its 
cross, and to gird the boy with the armor in which 
alone he could endure successfully the conflicts of 
his life; and so he answered him in words that 
were tender, but at the same time strong and true. 

Noble names, if nobly borne, are indeed an 
inheritance to be prized, John ; and it is a proud 
satisfaction to be able to point to an upright, 
honorable, Christian man and say ; he is my father. 
But if God, in his loving plans for you, with- 
holds that inheritance and that satisfaction, will 
you not consent that his will should be done? Will 
you not with that will try to be content? Look 
up, my boy. There is a precious promise : will 

be his father, and he shall be my son.^ When 
you have claimed that promise, John, you will 
know — as until you do claim it you never can 
know — what it is to l)e truly ennobled.’’ 

wish I could claim it,” John humbly con- 
fessed. ‘^But” — he asked anxiously, in a mo- 
ment — Mr. Crosby, don’t you believe, really, 
that I will find my own parents and know my 
own name some day ? ” 

It was a hard question to be asked. John waited, 
with a look on his young face that, as the minister 
rightly felt, told at once what confidence he had 
in his opinion, and how much he trusted that it 
would give him encouragement. 


108 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


It was one of life’s critical moments, and Mr. 
Crosby well understood that it was. Would his 
answer help to inspire the boy with a high ambition 
to triumph over all that was adverse in his lot, 
and, with God’s help, live his life nobly and make 
it a blessing to the world and to himself? or would 
it only crush him, and tend to make him hopeless, 
bitter, and unbelieving? 

For a few moments Mr. Crosby thought and 
prayed, and then he said gravely : ‘‘ I wish I 
could believe as you wish me to believe, John, but 
I can find no warrant for such a pleasant faith. It 
is now more than thirteen years since you were left 
at Mr. Millington’s. That is a long time, and ” — 
and Mr. Crosby’s voice trembled, though he was 
making a great effort to be calm and even matter- 
of-fact in his statement — ^^and since, through all 
these years, not one word has been heard from 
any one interested in you, I dare not indulge any 
hope that anything more than we know to-day 
ever will be heard or known concerning you.” 

While slowly and deliberately Mr. Crosby uttered 
these words, John listened as if his fate for life 
were being decided, and when Mr. Crosby ceased, 
and the hope the boy had so long clung to was 
crushed, he threw himself prostrate on the ground 
and with a bitter cry groaned : I wish I had 

never been born.” 

Hush ; life’s possibilities are too precious for 


RESOL UTIONS, 


109 


you to despise tliem/^ Mr. Crosby said, as he bent 
over the boy and laid his hand tenderly on his 
head. 

Nothing is possible for me but disgrace/^ John 
said bitterly. I shall always be a nobody.’^ 
^^Then, if you are, it will be entirely your own 
fault,^^ Mr. Crosby said, with firmness. 

‘‘ There is nothing I can do to help it,’’ the 
boy murmured rebel liously. 

^^Nothing? there is everything for you to do,” 
Mr. Crosby answered, in a decided and almost 
stern voice. ^^You are young and strong, you 
have a good mind ; the world is wide, and it is full 
of grand opportunities. If an honorable family 
name is a desirable inheritance, a noble personal 
character is a far more enviable possession. You 
can have the last if you will, John. Will you?” 
There was a long, deep silence. Merrily the 
little brook rippled and sung, as it danced onward 
towards the fathomless sea: joyously the bright- 
winged wood-birds carolled as they soared upward 
to the sky, and silently Mr. Crosby prayed to the 
Father, who, while all nature was offering glad 
worship, was watching with infinite compassiou 
the struggles of a human heart. 

Presently John looked up. A proud light 
shone in his dark eyes, and his voice was firm and 
clear. 

will,” he promised solemnly. 


110 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

Mr. Crosby took the boy’s hand and held it fast, 
whose strength, John?” he asked search- 

ingly. 

The bright eyes fell ; once more the shadow 
flitted across the young face. Silently, for awhile, 
Mr. Crosby watched and studied that downcast 
face, and then he slowly repeated : 

‘ He that abideth in me, and I in him, the 
same bringeth forth much fruit; for’” — with a 
tender but firm emphasis on the last words — ‘ for 
without me ye can do — nothing.’ ” 

The sacred words trembled on the sweet, still 
air, and the boy trembled as he heard them. 

am afraid,” he whispered; ‘‘that abiding — 
it will be so hard. Pray for me, Mr. Crosby.” 
Side by side they knelt: the man of middle-age, 
who for years had known the safe shelter of his 
Saviour’s love, and the boy, still standing on life’s 
threshold, whose heart was yearning for that 
yhelter, and up to the throne of him who waits to 
be gracious went the humble prayer: 

“Our Father, who gives us life, and plans its 
course, who knows our needs, and hears our 
feeblest cries, hear this young soul, that in its pain 
and loneliness to-day is crying out for thee. 

“ Come very close, our Father, to this thy child. 
Help him to trust, though to-day he cannot under- 
stand the need-be of thy dealings with him. Help 
him to look up to thee, and with a child’s faith 


EESOLUTIONS, 


111 


say, lovingly, My Father. Write upon him thy 
new name. Help him to feel the preciousness of 
a son-ship that can claim thee for Father, Christ 
for an elder brother, and the Holy Ghost for 
comforter : then help him to aim, as his highest 
ambition, to be worthy of the honor of such 
precious relationships. 

“ May he consecrate himself to thee, our Father. 
May he love the will, and do the work of Christ. 
May he bear his cross with a submissive, but 
brave heart now, and so live and work, doing botli 
nobly, because humbly, that in the glad hereafter, 
in return for loving service here, thou canst give 
unto him an immortal crown. In the name, 
and for the sake of him who loved us and gave 
himself for us, we ask these mercies.^^ 

The low Amen was spoken, and died away, 
and still John did not stir. Presently Mr. Crosby 
moved as if to rise, but the boy’s hand sought his 
and detained him. 

^^In the name, and for the sake of him who 
loved me, and gave himself for me,” he solemnly 
promised, I will be a Christian.” 


t 


CHAPTER VII. 

PLANS. 

‘^And there’s no life so lone and low, 

But strength divine is given 
From narrowest lot on earth to grow 
The straighter up to heaven .” — Gerald Massey, 

T WO or three weeks went by and left John 
still working in the cabinet-shop ; but there 
was a bright light in his face and a spring in his 
step now, that bore witness to the change that had 
passed over his heart. 

Converted — turned from a selfish, repining, re- 
bellious struggle against the will of his Father in 
heaven, to a prayerful desire to be lovingly, loy- 
ally submissive to that will — that was the change 
that had come over John. He might make many 
mistakes and meet with many temptations, and 
even defeats, in his efforts to be conformed to that 
will, but after each defeat he would rise again 
with a stronger and firmer determination to press 
forward. 

To be a Christian — ^to so live that he would be 
worthy to bear his Master’s name — that was John’s 
ambition now : and, as he cherished it, the old dis- 
( 112 ) 


PLANS. 


113 


content melted away, and the old wound slowly, 
but surely, healed. 

He knew nothing of tlie long conversations, of 
which he was the subject, that Mr.. Crosby and Mr. 
Millinofton and his son AVilliani were having in 
those days, and he would liave been greatly sur- 
})rised if he had heard Mr. Crosb}’^s last words to 
his adoptive father, at tlie close of a conversation 
in which several matters had been positively de- 
cided. 

It may not be safe or right always for us, 
poor blind gropers among timers shadows, as we 
* are, to try to read the meaning of many of God’s 
dealings with us, or explain his providences,” the 
minister said reverently. ^^If it is a good thing 
to have knowledge of God, it is a grander thing 
to repose confidence in him, and so I dare not pre- 
sume to-day — any more than thirteen years ago, 
when you first asked it, Mr. Millington — to 
answer your question, and say why God permitted 
that child to be deserted. We must wait for 
the full shining of Ghe light that shows all 
things in the slow history of their ripening,’ 
before we can hope to understand the mystery. 
But, as I have watched and studied the boy, 
my faith in the great law of compensation has 
been wonderfully strengthened. With his in- 
tense, inborn love for family and old family 
names, he might, if he possessed such an one, de- 

10 - « 



/ 


114 OUT OF THE mADOW, 

pend upon it too much ; might, in fact, make it — 
as so many well-born men do — a crutch, and lean 
upon it for support, instead of aiming — as such 
men ought — to make it still stronger and more 
influential. But if — as under the circumstances 
seems more probable — his name is a disgraced one, 
then, if he knew it, he would suffer far more than he 
does now. No; God^s providence may be full of 
mysteries, but they are mysteries that faith — 
though she cannot explain them — knows to be 
bright with love. Now, John must make a name 
for himself ; the place he fills in the world will 
depend entirely upon his own worthiness; and 
ten or fifteen years from now, it may be for us all 
a cause of thanksgiving that this boy had, in early 
life, to endure the discipline for which we pity him 
so much to-day.’’ 

You are a good comforter, Mr. Crosby, and I 
hope you will prove a true prophet,” William 
Millington answered. And as he rose to leave, 
he said ; I will send John to you this evening, 
and you can explain our plans to him, if you will 
be so kind.” 

^^Very well,” the minister replied, and that 
evening brought John to his study. 

William said you wanted to see me, sir,” the 
boy said modestly, as Mr. Crosby laid aside his 
book and gave him a cordial welcome. 

^^And William was quite right. Sit down, my 


PLANS. 


115 


✓ 


boy, I do want to see you. I want to have a 
serious talk with you. What have you been do- 
ing since the day we went fishing?’’ 

^‘Working, as usual, in the shop,” _ John 
answered. ‘‘And,” he added, after a moment’s 
hesitation, “ I have been reading my Bible, Mr. 
Crosby, and trying to be a Christian.” 

“Well?” the minister said interrogatively, as 
John’s expression told that he had not said all 
that was in his mind. 

“ I am afraid it is not well, at least not very 
well, sir,” the boy truthfully confessed. “ Some- 
times the harder I try to do right, the easier it 
seems for me to do wrong. I feel as if I were 
climbing a steep hill all the while, Mr. Crosby.” 
“Yes,” Mr. Crosby said, in a voice full of 
sympathy and comprehension, “ I understand. I 
have been just where you are now, John, but at 
last I learned that I never could climb that hill 
myself, and then I ceased to trust in my own 
strength, but gave myself to Christ and let him 
carry me.” 

^ “ I don’t know how to do that,” John said 

frankly; “it seems as if I must make and keep 
myself good, Mr. Crosby.” 

“And yet you feel that you succeed very poorly, 
do you ? ” Mr. Crosby asked gently, “ Yes, I know 
all about tliat labor of Hercules. My boy,” lie 
continued, as John looked at him with a face that 


» 


/ 

116 OUT OF THE SHADOW, 

/■ 

seemed to be asking for help, when we under- 
take to kill the Goliaths that meet us in our lives, 
we should take care to arm ourselves with David’s 
sling and stones. But keep on trying, my boy, 
and, better still, keep on praying; and through 
prayer you will learn day by day to love your 
Saviour more devotedly, and trust him more 
entirely.” 

There was a little pause after Mr. Crosby’s last 
words. John sat with downcast eyes, apparently 
studying the pattern of the carpet, while Mr. 
Crosby’s thoughtful eyes studied him. 

John,” Mr. Crosby asked soon, have you 
ever formed any plans for your future? Have 
you ever thought of what you would like to do 
and be when you become a man ? ” 

The boy’s sober face brightened, and his frank, 
truthful eyes were raised quickly to the kind face 
that was watching him. 

^^Yes, sir,” he said, have often thought of 
what I would like to do, but,” and the sober look 
returned, but, Mr. Crosby, it isn’t much use, is 
it, to ])lan a house if you haven’t money nor 
materials to build it with ? ” 

The minister smiled. ^^Just what does that 
question mean, John?” he asked kindly. 

John thought a moment, and then he said : I 

suppose it means, Mr. Crosby, that, since I must 
work in the shop, it isn’t any use for me to think 


■S, 


plaks. 


117 


wliat I would like to do somewhere else. God 
puts us just where he wants us, doesn’t he, sir? and 
if I am a Christian, I must be contented with the 
place he gives me. Mustn’t I?” and John waited 
anxiously for the minister’s answer. 

It was a very old, and yet an ever new ques- 
tion that John had asked, and it was one that 
seldom fails to present itself to earnest natures at 
the beginning of their Christian course. 

‘^Yes, my boy,” Mr. Crosby said soon, ^^yoii 
are quite right. If you are a Christian, you will 
be content with your Master’s will ; you will be 
not only willing, but happy to live and labor 
where he places you. But, at the same time — ” 
and Mr. Crosby’s voice was very emphatic now — 
^Gf you are a Christian, John, you will never for- 
get that your Master’s will for you is that you 
should ^go on unto perfection : ’ and if you are a 
Christian, you will never — no matter what your 
lot in life may be — feel that you may rest from 
further effort, or cease from earnest endeavors to 
go up higher.” 

Mr. Crosby paused here, but though John did 
not speak, his face still denoted perplexity, and 
after a moment’s thought the minister continued : 
Our life is much like a graded school, my boy. 
What would you think of the scholar who, having 
been assigned a place in one of the lowest class- 
rooms, should sit down contentedly at his desk, 


118 


OUT OF THE SHADOW* 


saying, Well, this is my place ; tlie Master has put 
me here, and now I must be contented ; and should 
fold his hands and indulge no desire, and make no 
faithful, resolute effort to prepare for and gain 
promotion into a higher class? Would you not 
think that he had sadly mistaken the will of his 
Master, who, while wishing him to be happy and 
contented in that lower grade, only meant that he 
should use it as a stepping-stone, and make in it 
good preparation for a higher department ? 

Yes, sir,’^ John said, with great decision, as 
Mr. Crosby waited for an answer to his question. 

know you would. Well, my boy, now 
think of yourself as a Christian, instead of as a 
school-boy. Make your own application, and tell 
me if it does not throw a little light on the problem 
you asked me to solve.’^ 

The boy^s thoughtful face grew very serious, 
and several moments went by before he again 
raised his clear eyes and looked at the minister. 
Presently, however, his perplexed expression 
changed ; his eyes brightened, and he left his chair 
and in his earnestness came close to Mr. Crosby ^s 
side. 

‘^Mr. Crosby,’^ he said, and his young voice 
was at once modest and decided, ‘‘ I think the 
light is pretty clear, and it has helped me to see 
this: if God has given me a low place now, I 
ought, if I am a Christian, to try to make of it a 


PLANS. 


119 


ladder by which I can go up higher, somewhere 
where I can do better work for him and make 
myself a better and more useful man. While I 
stay here I ought to be contented, and cheerful, 
and faithful to every duty, but at the same time it 
is right for me to look up to the top of the ladder, 
and try with all my strength to climb there. Isn’t 
it, sir ? ” 

Yes,” Mr. Crosby said, with emphasis ; it is 
your right, your privilege, and your imperative 
duty, as a Christian, in a world where there is so 
much work to be done for Christ, to make your- 
self just as complete a man as you can. Do you 
know what complete means, John?” 

John hesitated. Isn’t a thing complete when 
it is done, sir?” he asked rather doubtfully. 

^^Not always, I am afraid,” Mr. Crosby said, 
with a half sigh. great deal depends upon 

the way in which the thing is done. Listen, 
John” — and Mr. Crosby turned to his favorite 
Webster — Complete: to bring to a state in which 
there is no deficiency.’ There is your life-work 
marked out for you, my boy,” the good man said, 
with tender seriousness. Never, for Christ’s sake, 
allow yourself to be satisfied with anything less in 
your character, your education, or your work, than 
completion.” 

The face with which John was watching Mr. 
Crosby was at once reverent and full of questions. 


120 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


\ 

Wont I — wont I be~pretty sure to be discon- 
tented if I try to be anything as grand as that?^^ 
he asked slowly. 

Mr. Crosby smiled. Yes, with yourself/’ he 
answered. I do not promise that you shall ever 
be content with John Millington. But day by day, 
as you ^ study to show thyself approved unto God/ 
your content in Christ will deepen ; and the more 
fully you trust in him, the more entirely he will 
‘perfect that which concerneth you.’^’ 

John made no reply, but the minister’s faithful 
words had fallen like good seed into good ground, 
and fruit unto perfection would one day be brought 
forth toenablehim to rejoice, even now, in thespring- 
time, over the autumn’s harvest; and with a feel- 
ing of thanksgiving that to him was granted the 
privilege of guiding the young soul standing now 
on life’s tlireshold, he asked soon : 

“John, if you could make plans for yourself, 
rind carry them out, what would you like now to 
do ? ” 

There was no hesitation in John’s answer. He 
had evidently considered that question well, and 
lie said at once : 

“I would like to go away from Hermitsville.” 
“Away from your best friends, John?” 

The boy choked back something like a sob, but 
he answered firmly: 

“I am willing to stay here if I ought, Mr. 


PLANS, 


121 


Crosby, but I would like to go away where nobody 
knows about me. I^d like to have a chance to 
make more of myself, Mr. Crosby.^^ 

Mr. Crosby looked at the young boy, who felt 
already so heavily weighted with the burden of 
life, and answered kindly : 

A chance to make more of yourself than you 
can here in Hermitsville, do you moan, John? 
Well, if I tell you that you shall have that chance, 
will you tell me what you will do with it?^^ 

will make myself a man,^^ tlie boy said, with 
a sudden fire in his eyes. 

believe you will,’’ Mr. Crosby thought, but 
lie only said : 

You have a great many steps to take yet 
before you reach manhood, but your steps in the 
present may and probably will decide your place 
in the future. Where do you want to go, John? 
What do you want to do?” 

I want to go to school ; I want to study,” John 
answered, with prompt decision. 

Mr. Crosby nodded, So I expected,” he said 
quietly. ‘^But, my boy, it is difficult and well- 
nigh impossible to walk in learning’s paths with- 
out money : and so, before we go any farther, we 
must answer this question ; where is the money to 
come from ? ” 

John’s bright face sobered instantly. ^^It will 
come from nowhere ; I know that, Mr. Crosby,”- 
11 




122 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


lie said sadly, only — ’’ and he looked wishfully to 
his kind friend — sometimes I have thought that 
maybe I could work : couldn’t I work, Mr. Crosby, 
and help myself in that way through school?” 
‘^Yes, you could, if you would,” Mr. Crosby 
said slowly, but — stop,” he ordered, as he saw 
John’s quick motion to speak, listen to me first. 
Before we decide on this step you must consider it 
well and count the cost. I know a school, one of 
the best in New England, where I can send you.” 
John’s face grew fairly radiant as he heard these 
Mmrds, but, still enforcing silence, Mr. Crosby went 
slowly on. 

You can go there on these conditions, John : 
Mr. Millington will continue to clothe you in good 
strong, sensible clothes, the same in fashion and 
material as you have always had. And now, while 
these clothes will be good enough for all necessary 
purposes, you must understand that you will 
probably be the plainest and poorest-dressed boy 
in that school; for your schoolmates will all be 
richer than you are, and of course their dress will 
show that they are. Could you bear to see that 
difference, John, and know that the advantage in 
looks was all on their side?” 

John pressed his lips firmly together for an 
instant, and then he said : 

I think I could, Mr. Crosby. I could try to 
think about my work and not about my clothes.” 


PLANS, 


123 


^^Very well; it will require a courage greater 
than many soldiers possess ; but stilly we will con- 
sider this point settled : you are willing to wear 
plain, and even patched clothes and shoes if nec- 
essary? I may tell Mr. Millington so?^^ 

Yes, sir.^^ 

^^Now, another thing: you will have no spend- 
ing-money, John. Have you resolution enough 
cheerfully to do without it? Can you bear to be 
denied a great many pleasant things you will see 
your classmates enjoying ?^^ 

I have never had spending-money, sir.^^ 

True, but neither have you ever felt the want 
of it, as you often will in that school. Well, John, 
when you learn, as you soon will there, what a 
power, in many ways, money is, can you, for the 
sake of acquiring an education, bear to carry an 
empty purse, or maybe no purse, at all?^^ 

I think I can, Mr. Crosby.^^ 

Mr. Crosby nodded his approbation. ^^Now,^^ 
and he fastened his eyes searchingly on John, 
now for the third point. Board is a very im- 
portant item in a student^s life, John. Unless the 
body is well nourished, the delicate brain will suffer, 
and therefore, before you enter the school-room, 
we must provide you a home. Board in the school 
would be expensive, but I have a friend — one of 
the professors — who in return for what you can do 
for him will give you bread and butter.’’ 


124 


OUT OF TttE SHADOW. 


AVIiat can I do for Iiim ? Jolin asked, in sur- 
prise. 

Various tilings.* you can attend to his fires, 
blacken his boots, groom and harness his horse, 
dig paths in the snow in winter, and work in his 
garden in the spring *and summer. There is 
enough that you can do for him, my boy, but the 
important question is, arh you humble enough to 
do it ? Can you bear to fill a servant's place, John, 
in a home where your classmates are received as 
gentlemen?’^ 

John opened and closed his lips several times 
before he sjioke. 

It will be hard, IMr. Crosby,^^. he said, with a 
long-drawn breath, but — but I think — if I 

pray. I’ll be able to do it.” 

I think you will,” Mr. Crosby said encourag- 
ingly, ^^and when you find it hardest, remember, 
my boy, that he who cannot serve patiently will 
never be fit to rule nobly. Now, there are only 
two things more to settle — your books and tuition. 
The text-books. Professor Selwyn has kindly of- 
fered to furnish you with. They will be old, 
second-hand books, that other students have used, 
and they will cost him little or nothing. For 
your tuition, it is proposed that you ring the 
school-bells. They ring at least every hour, and 
you will need to be very prompt. A dilatory, 
unreliable boy can never retain that office; and 


PLANS, 


125 


then you will also have charge of the school post- 
office. They have two mails a day; you will 
carry and bring those mails from the town office, 
and distribute the letters in the students’ boxes. 
That will be a very responsible duty. Letters 
with money will very often pass through your 
hands. Can you promise me to be faithful to 
that trust? To never for an instant tamper with 
what is not your own ? ” 

John looked at Mr. Crosby with eyes that 
were singularly irank and honest. 

I don’t think I’d ever want to,” he said 
simply. 

believe you,” Mr. Crosby said. ^‘Well, my 
boy, we have counted the cost of this important 
step now, and we have found, have we not, that 
you have the money to pay for it?” 

Money,” John exclaimed. 

‘^What in your case will be accepted as an 
equivalent for money?” Mr. Crosby explained, 
with a smile. Let us see: resolution and moral 
courage enough to own poverty and not be 
ashamed of it ; humility to take a servant’s place 
and not feel disgraced ; faithfulness in perform- 
ing duties that will often prove irksome; un- 
swerving honesty in caring for the possessions of 
others. John, if I give you such a character, can 
you solemnly promise to be worthy of it?” 
will pray to be,” John said humbly. 


126 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


Mr. Crosby laid his hand in tender blessing on 
the boy’s young head. 

Only the years, witli their searching tests, 
can prove what you will be,” he said, but, iny 
boy, if you keep your promise, and, through the 
strength that prayer alone can give, resist and 
overcome all temptations to moral cowardice, 
pride, unfaithfulness and dishonesty, the angels 
will call you a rich and a great man, though your 
place in the world’s view should always be one of 
poverty and servitude.” 

I will do my very best, sir,” John once more 
earnestly promised. 

I hope and expect you will. And your ac- 
tions will soon prove your sincerity, John, for day 
after to-morrow you will start with me for Han- 
cock.” 

John left Mr. Crosby and walked home' that 
evening feeling, perhaps, more like a Columbus 
on the verge of discovering a new world than he 
would ever feel again. Such wonderful possi- 
bilities seemed opening before him, and so much, 
that he had scarcely dared to dream of, was 
promised him now, that he could hardly believe 
he was the same boy who only a few hours be- 
fore had swept up the shavings in his brother’s 
shop, with no prospect, as he then supposed, of 
any change in his work for months, it might 
be years, to come. 


PLANS, 


127 


It was with a happy heart tliat lie fell asleep 
that night, and though the next day the fact 
that he was to leave his home and friends for a 
long time, and would probably never return to 
take up his old life with them, sobered him a lit- 
tle, still, even while he clung to what he was 
parting from, his young and hopeful heart could 
not help looking forward with glad imaginations 
to what the unknown future was hiding from 
him. 

He had a last visit to make to his brother’s 
shop the day before he left Hermitsville ; and as 
he was hurrying home from there a strange voice 
suddenly called : 

‘‘Hallo, youngster, you aint forgot an old 
friend, have you?” And looking back, John 
saw the wood -cut ter com i no; after him. 

With a pleased smile, the boy stepped back and 
joined the man. “ I am glad to see you,” he 
said frankly. 

The wood-cutter’s grim face softened. “ Be 
you,” he said. “Well, it sounds pleasant to hear 
that. I’m ’fraid there aint many, now, who 
would say it. What are you doin’ now?” he 
asked, in a moment, after his keen eyes had 
closely inspected the boy. “You aint been run- 
nin’ away agin, since I saw you, have you?” 

John laughed. No,” he said, “ but I’m 
going away to-morrow. I am going to school.” 


128 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Be you ? and the wood-cutter’s tone denoted 
surprise, and a little doubt wliether to be pleased 
or annoyed. He walked on for several moments 
without sj)eaking, and then he drew a long 
breath, as if he at last had decided some question 
that was troubling him. 

^^Well,” he said slowly, nothing’s certain, an’ 
I s’pose it will be a good thing for you to go to 
school. I never went much to no school, myself. 
Maybe if I had gone more it would have been 
better for me. It’s very strange,” he continued, 
in a slow, ruminating tone, what there is in the 
learn in’ that’s kept between the two covers of a 
book, that it can make the men that knows it so 
much better off than the men that doesn’t know 
it. I don’t understand it ; but I know it’s so, an’ 
so, boy, I hope you’ll make good use of that 
chance now, wont you ? ” And he looked sharply, 
and even anxiously, at John. 

Yes, I will try to do so,” John promised. 

The man nodded his head approvingly. ^^Them 
that tries is the ones that do,” he said wisely. 

Aw,” he added, in a moment, its all uncertain ; 
it seems a hard thing to do justice, things ain’t 
very plain, but a great deal may depend upon the 
way you try. 1 don’t want folks ever to be 
ashamed of you.” 

John looked up at him in innocent surprise. 

I hope they never will be,” he said simply. 


PLANS, 


129 


^ye’ll see, we’ll see,” the man said, in a quick, 
nervous voice. ^^Look here, boy,” he said, soon 
as they came to a turn in the street, “I’m goin’ 
down here; your way an’ mine don’t run together 
no longer. But now, you mind my words. Don’t 
you do nothin’ wrong, nothin’ to bring trouble on 
yourself, and make them you b’long to ’shamed 
of you, an’ then, if trouble comes, an’ I ’spect it 
will, for it most generally don’t let nobody escape 
it, you just stand an’ face it like a man. And 
wherever you goes, you be sure and let folks in 
Hermitsville know all about you. There’s enough, 
now, that stands in the way of justice; don’t you 
ever do nothin’ to keep it from being done. Will 
you, now ? ” and in his earnestness the man grasped 
the boy’s arm and pressed it hard. 

It was impossible for John to imagine what the 
man meant, and he began to wonder if he was not 
insane, but he answered promptly : 

“ No. I’ll never hinder justice, if I can help it.” 
“Don’t you run away, then,” the man said 
nervously, while he fumbled for something in his 
pocket. “ I’ve got something for you,” he whis- 
pered now ; it aint money, an’ it aint books, but, 
maybe, if you take care of it, it will do for you 
what money and books can’t; ” and drawing out a 
small parcel, wrapped in paper that looked worn and 
colored with years, he placed it in the boy’s hands. 
“You keep that,” he said solemnly. “It 


130 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

wont take up much room, but maybe you’ll find 
it a help in this world, where justice is such a 
slow, hard thing to get done.” And grasping 
the boy’s hand, the man gave it an almost con- 
vulsive squeze, then dropped it, turned the corner, 
and quickly disappeared. 

Full of curiosity, John carried the mysterious 
package home and gave it to Mrs. Millington. 

Open it please, mother,” he said ; it makes 
me feel nervous.” And, with a curiosity as great 
as his own, Mrs. Millington broke the wax that 
sealed the dingy paper. 

John watched her with fascinated eyes, and his 
excitement was intense when the wrapper fell, and 
revealed a small, old-fashioned daguerreotyj)e-case. 
Without a word Mrs. Millington handed the case 
to John, and with trembling fingers the boy 
touched the tiny spring that fastened it. Two 
faces smiled upon him then. One was young 
and lovely, the face of a woman whose girlhood 
had scarcely passed, and the other was a man’s 
face, young also, but resolute and earnest ; and as 
Mrs. Millington looked at it, she fancied she could 
trace in it a strong resemblance to the boyish face 
that was studying it with such intense interest. 

A slip of paper, yellowed with time, but still 
fragrant with some faint, subtle perfume, was 
folded inside the case, and on it, in a woman’s 
fine, running hand, these words were written ; 


I 


/ 


PLANS. 131 

Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from 
following after thee ; for whither thou goest, I 
will go ; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge ; 
thy people shall be my people, and thy God my 
God. 

The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught 
but death part thee and me.’’ 

There was no signature attached to this solemn 
promise, but where the name would naturally 
have been written, once more appeared the two 
Latin words, Tenax propositV’ 

What did it mean ? Whose were those likenesses, 
and what relation were they to himself? John’s 
lips trembled as he tried to ask those questions, 
and Mrs. Millington, since she could not answer 
them, wisely refrained from guesses. 

Go to Mr. Crosby,” she advised; and John 
hurried to the minister’s study. 

^^Mr. Crosby, look ! ” he panted ; and Mr. Crosby 
looked, and then cautiously questioned the excited 
boy. 

Like Mrs. Millington, Mr. Crosby thought he 
could see a resemblance between John and the 
faces in the picture, but he dared not say so to the 
eager boy. He had a great dread of awakening 
vain hopes and expectations in his mind, and 
when John begged him to tell him what he 
thought, he only said : 

I will try to find that man, this afternoon, 




132 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


John, and, if possible, I will make him tell me 
.if these pictures have any connection with your 
history. It is quite probable that the man is a 
foolish, half-insane creature, who, since he be- 
friended you, feels kindly towards you, and fancies 
that this daguerreotype, that he has evidently 
highly valued, may be of service to you. Don’t 
attach too much importance to it, my boy; it may 
bear no more relation to you and yours than — 
Adam bore to Abraham,” he added, searching 
for a comparison and thinking that, where the 
deluge separated, John would see little connection. 

But the boy’s answer was prompt. At least 
Abraham descended from Adam,” he exclaimed, 
and besides, Mr. Crosby, there is the motto.” 
‘‘Tenax py'oi^ositi — tenacious of purpose,” Mr. 
Crosby wSaid, as he once more took up the slip of 
paper. ^^Yes,” he said, with studied coolness, 
that is a very good motto, John, but it tells us 
very little.” 

I think it tells a good deal, Mr. Crosby,” 
John insisted. Don’t you remember the neck- 
lace? Tenax propositi is stamped on that, and I 
know — I know perfectly well — that in some way 
this picture belongs to me. O Mr. Crosby — ” 
and the poor boy’s voice was broken and choked 
with something like a sob as he spoke — ^^do you 
think — do you think it can possibly be a picture 
of — my parents ? ” 


PLANS. 


133 


Yes, Mr. Crosby did remember the necklace, 
and he had recognized the motto at once, but he 
had hoped the boy was ignorant of it. Now, 
however, as he saw that John knew everything, 
he said very gently, but seriously : 

My boy, it may be; but, whether it is or is 
not, we cannot possibly determine now. There 
are mysteries connected with your life that we can- 
not, in our ignorance, unriddle to-day; we must 
leave them with God. And remember,’^ the 
minister added with grave emphasis, remember, 
if you think too much about what has happened 
to-day, and allow yourself to indulge vain dreams 
and foolish speculations about it, you will only 
make yourself discontented and unhappy, and in 
the end gain nothing but disappointment. Accept 
your life as it is, my boy. Tliis motto — ^ tenacious 
of purpose ’ — does seem, in some way, to belong to 
you. Make it your own by holding fast to all 
things that are good and true, and then let it be 
the firm purpose of your soul to gain for yourself 
a character that will exalt a lowly name, and add 
new dignity to a high one; and though you may 
never find your earthly father, believe, with un- 
wavering faith, that your Father in heaven has a 
plan for your life, and will make all things work 
together for your good, if you will but give him 
the love and obedience of a child.’^ 

Mr. Crosby’s quiet and sensible words produced 
12 


134 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


the result he desired, and John went back to Mrs. 
Millington, sobered both in face and naind, and 
without any disposition to indulge extravagant 
hopes and day-dreams. 

True to his promise, Mr. Crosby, in company 
with Mr. Millington, spent the afternoon in search- 
ing for the wood-cutter, but they only succeeded in 
learning that his name was Francis Sharp, and 
that nearly a year before he had appeared in Her- 
mitsville as a tramp, and had been employed by a 
farmer to cut wood in the forest. With the ex- 
ception of a short absence in the winter, he had 
worked faithfully until the day before, when he 
had suddenly quitted his employer, giving as a 
reason that he was tired of staying in one place, 
and thought he would tramp again for a spell, for 
justice would never get done if he sat still and did 
nothing. He had seemed friendless and homeless, 
and had apparently no purpose either in coming to 
or leaving Hermitsville; and when Mr. Crosby 
suggested that he was probably insane, he was as- 
sured by those who had had most to do with the 
man, that instead of being insane, he seemed re- 
markably keen and shrewd, though he had a singu- 
lar habit of talking about justice, as something it 
was the great object of his life to either get or do. 
That was all that was known about him, except 
that at noon that very day he had bought a ticket 
for New York and left on the train for that city. 


PLANS, 


135 


It is better so/’ Mr. Crosby said to Mr. Mill- 
ington, as they turned homeward. Francis 
Sharp — F. S. : those are the very initials engraved 
on that necklace; if John is in any way connected 
with that tramp, I hope he will never know it. 
And, in any case, we may wait with patience ; for, 
though God’s book of revelations may be opened 
slowly, it will be opened surely, and our Father’s 
time is better than ours.” 

There was nothing more that could be said or 
done about the matter ; and the last few hours of 
John’s stay at home were quiet and tender ones, 
spent in the society of the true and generous 
friends who loved him as a son and brother, and 
were most gratefully loved in return. 




CHAPTER VIII. 


SCHOOL -DAYS. 

“ In the way that he shall choose. 

He will teach us. 

Not a lesson we shall lose ; 

All shall reach us. 

“Strange and difllcult indeed 
We may find it, 

But the blessing that we need 
Is behind it .” — Frances Ridley Havergal, 

I T was near sunset the next day when Mr. 

Crosby and John left the train at Hancock; 
and a short walk soon brought tliem to the house 
of Professor Selwyn, Mr. Crosby’s friend, who 
had offered to give John a home. 

The introduction was soon over. Professor 
Selwyn was teacher of Latin and Greek; a grave 
man, who would be kind, when he thought of it, 
but who was usually so absorbed with the lan- 
guages of Homer and Cicero that he forgot to 
make much use of his own. He greeted Mr. 
Crosby cordially, looked critically — much as if he 
were a Greek manuscript offered to him for re- 
view — at John for a moment, and then turned to 
( 136 ) 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


137 


Ills old college friend, and would soon have for- 
gotten the boy^s presence or even existence, if Mr. 
Crosby had not reminded him of it. 

When reminded, he looked at the boy again, 
said, not unkindly, but in an indifferent tone : 
So you think you want to be a student, do you, 
John? Well, to-morrow you can take your first 
steps in that direction.^^ And then, without wait- 
ing for John’s timid answer, he rang the bell and 
ordered the neat-looking colored servant, who 
answered it, to give the boy his supper and then 
show him to his room. 

‘^Good night, my boy, I will see you in the 
morning,” Mr. Crosby said kindly, and with a 
very lonely, homesick feeling, John followed the 
woman down-stairs into a neat basement kitchen. 

The kitchen was as neat as the woman, who 
apparently reigned in it with undisputed au- 
thority. 

Sit down,” she said, in a pleasant voice, to 
John, and then she moved with quick, but quiet 
steps from her pantries to the fire, and from the 
fire to the little table she drew up before John. 

You mils’ be hungry,” she said, as she placed 
a tempting plateful of smoking chicken fricassee 
before him. Now, do eat. I don’t min’ cookin’ 
for folks, if they’ll only eat when I’ve done.” 

Thus urged, John tried faithfully to eat his 
supper, but a few mouthfuls sufficed, It is very 


138 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


good/^ he said, but I believe I^m not hungry to- 
night.’^ 

The woman looked at him with a pair of liquid 
black eyes, that were at once keen and pleasant. 

Don’t you go for to be homesick, now, honey,” 
she said reprovingly ; ‘‘ ’cause it jest aint no use. 
It wont help nothin’, but it will jest make every- 
thing seem a great deal harder to bear an’ to do.” 

John could not deny the wisdom of the woman’s 
kind advice ; but though he pressed his lips and 
winked vigorously, the treacherous tell-tale tears 
threatened every moment to fall, and the sympa- 
thizing eyes that were watching him saw it all. 

Don’t you know how to sing or whistle ? ” 
their owner suddenly asked. 

John’s face brightened at the question. I can 
do both,” he answered. 

^^Then you jest go right along an’ sing some- 
thing, honey. I alius sing when I want to cry, 
’cause, you see, the tears they jest blind the eyes 
an’ hinder the work ; but the singing — why, that’s 
jest like oil to ’chinery — makes the works go 
smoother. So sing ahead, boy ; I’d like to hear 
you.” 

John hesitated a moment, and then, in his clear, 
boyish voice, he sang : 

What a friend we have in Jesus, 

All our sins and griefs to bear; 

What a privilege, to carry 
Everything to God in prayer. 




y 


/ 


SCHOOL-DA YS. 130 

** Oh, what peace we often forfeit, 

Oh, what needless pain we bear. 

All because we do not carry 
Everything to God in prayer.” 


The woman had stopped in her rapid work of 
clearing the table, and now stood by it, looking at 
John. 

Yes, that’s jest gospel truth,” she said seri- 
ously. Now, aint it strange, that when we 
believe so much folks, who aint no friends at all, 
tell us, we can’t believe when this Friend tells us 
to bring all our troubles to him? It’s very 
strange that we should be so contrary, I think, 
boy, don’t you ? ” 

Just then the door creaked softly, and the next 
moment a little hand pushed it open, and a little 
girl of ten entered the kitchen. With a spring 
and a skip she ran to the woman’s side and, stand- 
ing there, looked curiously and yet shyly at John. 

La, now. Miss Kuth, what do you want, 
dearie?” the woman asked, as she looked down 
with evident pride and affection on the child. 

I want to stay here. Aunt Phillis,” Miss 
Ruth answered, in a tone that told plainly that 
she felt sure of being allowed to do as she wanted. 

Well, I ’spect you can stay then, honey ; Aunt 
Phillis aint never shet the door on ye yet; but 
don’t you see, dear, we’ve got company ? ” 

Ruth looked at Aunt Phillis with a smile, gave 


140 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


her a tiny nod of her bright head, and then drew 
nearer the table. 

■ Were you singing just now?^^ she asked, as 
she clasped her small hands, rested them on the 
table, and looked with serious attention at John. 

Yes,’^ John answered, as he returned her 
sober gaze with his pleasant, boyish smile. 

^^Sing again, then, wont you?^^ the little lady 
half asked and half commanded. 

What do you want me to sing?’^ John asked 
obediently. 

O, everything you know,^^ was the compre- 
hensive answer. 

And, feeling now at liberty to make his own 
selection, John began to sing one of his favorite 
Sunday-school hymns, while his little hearer stood 
gravely before him, and listened with the deepest 
interest and appreciation. 

^^Are you the new boy ? she asked, when 
John at last paused for breath. 

I believe so,’^ he answered. 

Oh, I know you are,’’ she returned, with confi- 
dence. I heard papa telling Aunt Phillis about 
you. I didn’t much want you to come,”^she went 
on confidentially. don’t like boys much. Papa’s 
last boy used to say, am busy; don’t bother me, 
little girl;’ and I don’t think that was very re- 
spectful, do you ?” 

John shook his head in emphatic disapproval 


SCHOOL-DAYS, 


141 


of the last boy^s disrespectful conduct, and the 
little princess gravely continued : 

^^Xo, I didn’t like him, but I believe I am 
going to like you. And now,” she asked, as if 
that complimentary assurance deserved a high 
reward, ^^yoii will sing for me whenever I want 
to hear you, wont you ? ” 

‘^Yes,” John said, with decision, and then 
sought to qualify his hasty promise with, ^Svhen 
I have time.” 

O, but you must always make time to sing 
when I ask you,” soberly replied the dignified 
little ladv. 

“ M iss Ruth,” Aunt Phillis said now, ^^your 
supper is ready, and your papa wants you in the 
dinino;-room.” 

Ruth hesitated a second, and then with a 
child’s sweet, innocent grace came close to John’s 
side. 

Good-night,” she said, as she laid her little 
hand in his; I thank you for singing, and I 
hope you will like it here just as much as I 
b’lieve we will all like you.” And turning be- 
fore he could answer, with the spring and skip 
that seemed her natural way of moving, the lit- 
tle girl followed Aunt Phillis to the dining-room. 

Sympathy, like a strong, supporting hand, is 
often a wonderful help over a hard place, and 
even when the unconscious child had left the 


142 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


kitchen, the cheer of her bright, sweet influence 
remained, and, encouraged by it, John shook off 
the homesickness that had threatened to overcome 
him, and once more felt hopeful and able to an- 
ticipate with pleasure the coming of the next day. 
It was still early in the evening when Aunt 
Phillis proposed to show him his room, and tired 
with the long day’s travel and excitement he was 
glad to accept her offer. He found his room 
small and plain, but neat and comfortable, and 
his last thought before he fell asleep was that he 
was a very fortunate boy and would try to be a 
very good one. 

The next day his school-life began in earnest. 
Early in the morning Mr. Crosby accompanied 
him to the principal’s office, and he was examined 
and his place in the school assigned him. Then 
his new duties were explained to him, and with a 
sense of great responsibility he touched the bell- 
rope for the first time, and took possession of the 
mail -bag. 

Days, weeks, and even months went rapidly by. 
John was tested, as Mr. Crosby had warned him 
he would be ; but he stood the tests nobly. If 
his coarse dress, and the undisguised fact that he 
was a poor boy, toiling to acquire an education, 
ever tempted some of his rich and* foolish school- 
mates to treat him contemptuously, the equally 
plain aud undeniable fact that his name was, as 


SCHOOL-DA YS, 


143 


the principal liimself said, fast becoming a syn- 
onym in that school for faithfulness, honor and 
excellence in study, compelled them to respect 
him, and acknowledge his superiority. 

Character tells everywhere, and it told in that 
busy school, though the boy who was soon so in- 
fluential there never labored to acquire influence, 
or thought of himself as superior to his school- 
mates, but only aimed with all the strength of his 
will to do his duty. 

At first. Professor Selwyn — though he faithfully 
performed his promises, and gave John a comfort- 
able home, supplied him with books, and made 
no unreasonable demands upon him for service — 
seemed to feel little or no interest in him. John 
took his meals alone in the kitchen, where Aunt 
Phillis carefully cared for him, and his place, 
when in the house, was either in the kitchen or in 
his own room. 

Professor Selwyn was a widower, who divided 
his time between his library and his class room, 
and seemed sometimes in danger of forgetting 
that to know books was not the whole duty of 
man. 

His house was presided over by an unmarried 
sister, a quiet, reserved woman, whose real kind- 
ness of feeling was deep, like still waters, and 
like them seldom overflowed in expression. She 
rarely praised ; that she as rarely censured had to 


144 


OUT OF THE SHAJ)OW. 


content her friends and dependants. The good 
genius of the quiet household was Aunt Phillis. 
Clouds never could darken the sun so that she 
could not see something to be thankful for, and 
reserve never could chill her warm heart, or si- 
lence the flow of her simple, kindly words. 

In and out, from library to parlor, and from 
parlor to kitchen, skipped little Ruth, ruling 
wherever she went, but ruling with childhood’s 
fairy wand of love, and truthfulness, and inno- 
cence. 

Between John and herself a strong friendship 
soon existed. He was loyal to his promise, and 
never too busy to attend to her, and she soon 
learned to trust him with her childish troubles, 
and bring to him the difficulties she encountered 
in her simple studies. 

John,” she said, once in the early part of a 
long winter evening, as perched in a high chair 
she sat opposite John at the kitchen table with an 
open geography before her, John, I wish Chris- 
topher Columbus had never discovered America.” 

John looked up from his Latin grammar and 
gave her a pleasant smile. Why ? ” he asked. 

O,” she said with energy, because then 
there would not be so much for us to learn. It 
has made this world a great deal harder to study 
about, I think, John.” 

It has made the world a great deal easier to 


SCHOOL-DA YS, 


145 


live in, though,’’ John answered, with the wisdom 
of his fourteen years. 

^^Has it?” Ruth asked, in surprise. ^^Well, 
after all, John, it hasn’t made it very easy to live 
in, for old Mrs. Black was calling on Aunt Anna 
this morning, and she said she found this world 
such a hard place, she should be glad when her 
time came to leave it and go to heaven.” 

John nodded pleasantly, but made no remark, 
and soon, forgetful of all other matters, was en- 
grossed with his translation. Ruth waited awhile, 
and then suddenly spoke again. 

‘‘John,” she said, as she looked at him with her 
little face all knotted and puckered in her per- 
plexity, “John, I’ve been thinking — ” 

“Well, Ruthie, what about?” John asked, as 
he good-naturedly pushed aside his book, and 
waited for the little girl to reveal the thoughts 
that seemed such weighty ones to her small mind. 

“Why, John, I’m wondering,” and Ruth 
looked at him with a solemn expression that 
made him think of a little, old woman, “if all 
the world is discovered now — and I suppose it is, 
don’t you ? because you know we have got both 
sides to it now, and so there can’t be anything 
left for a new Columbus to discover — and yet, if it 
is still such a hard place to live in, that old Mrs. 
Black wants to leave it, what can ever make it an 
easy place to live in ? ” 


13 


K 


146 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Jest hear that child/’ Aunt Phillis exclaimed 
admiringly, as she dropped the gay pieces she was 
arranging for a bed-quilt, and looked with proud 
eyes at her little mistress. ‘^La/’ she advised, 
when, after a moment’s study of Ruth’s face, she 
turned back to her patchwork, don’t you go 
for to bother your little head over such questions. 
The p’losophers now, they’ve been talkin’ ’bout 
that same question since long before you was 
born, an’ they aint no nearer answerin’ it now, 
than they was then. It’s one of them unanswer- 
able questions we read about, aint it, now?” 
And Aunt Phillis appealed to John. 

The boy turned to her with a serious but 
bright face. He was not given to preaching; 
his daily life bore witness to his faith, and his 
faith kept his words pure and sweet, and yet in 
words he seldom proclaimed that faith ; but now, 
Ruth and Aunt Phillis together had given him a 
solemn and beautiful thought, and with simple, 
earnest directness, he answered : 

think Jesus Christ is the answer to that 
question. Aunt Phillis.” 

Jesus is in heaven,” Ruth said solemnly. 

He is watching over us, though,” John said, 
- with confidence. 

But heaven is so far away,” Ruth said, in a 
puzzled tone. Does it do any good for him to 
watch us from there ? ” 


SCHOOL- DA YS, 


147 


believe he is near us all the time, Ruthie/’ 
John answered ; but^ see here^ do you remember 
the other day, when you were sliding on the ice 
ill the garden, and I was up in the garret? Did 
it do any good for me to watch you from tliere?^’ 
^^Yes,^^ Ruth said quickly, ^Svhen I fell and 
cried, you ran down and picked me up/^ 

I think that is what Jesus does for us, 
Ruthie,’^ John said reverently. ^^We fall and 
hurt ourselves very often in this world, but when 
we cry to Jesus, he hears us and comes very soon 
to help us.’’ 

^^And does that make the world easier to live 
in?” Ruth asked, going back now to her first 
thouocht. 

I think it must, Ruthie. I don’t think any- 
thing could be very hard- to do or to bear if 
Jesus loved and helped us through it, do you?” 
^^Does he love and help you?” Ruth asked 
earnestly. 

^^Yes,” John answered, in the glad confidence 
of his childlike faith, he always has, and I 
know he always will.” 

Ruth sat back in her chair, folded her little 
hands, and looked at John much as if his face was 
a page on which she was studying a new lesson. 

John,” she said suddenly, as if she had at last 
found the solution of some troublesome problem, 
John, do you read the Bible?” 


148 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


^^Yes/’ John said quietly. 

Most boys don’t, I guess,” the little girl said, 

- with a wise nod of her curly head, ‘^and I guess 
that makes the difference. I don’t like most 
boys. I think they are un-en-du-ra-ble — ” with 
a division of the syllables and an emphasis on 
each that gave additional force to the word. 
‘‘Well, John,” she said, after another little time 
of serious consideration, “ if you read the Bible,. 
I will, too.” And jumping from her chair, she 
ran out of the kitchen, but soon returned with a 
book. 

“See, John,” she said, “this is my Bible. 
Aunt Anna gave it to me a year ago. I’ve kept 
it nice, haven’t I? But then, you see,” she inno- 
cently explained, “I’ve kept it in a box most of 
the time, for it is such a queer book I never can 
tell what it means. But if you read it, I will ; 
so, John, please tell me where to begin.” 

“Why don’t you begin at tlie beginning, 
honey?” Aunt Phillis asked. 

“ It is so thick, it will take so long to get 
through it,” the little girl said doubtfully. 
“Find me an easy place, John,” she coaxed, as 
she turned from Aunt Phillis to him, “with 
words that wont want any spelling.” 

John could not help feeling that his study 
that evening was subject to many interruptions, 
but he gave the little girl a kind smile as he said : 


SCHOOL-DA YS. 


149 


I don’t know about the easy places, Ruthie, 
but I will show you where I am reading now.” 
And taking the Bible he found the eighteenth 
chapter of Matthew, and with a very serious face 
Ruth -went back to her seat. 

Read aloud, honey,” Aunt Phillis requested. 

‘‘Shall I?” the little girl asked of John. 
And, as he closed his book and nodded affirma- 
tively, in her clear, childish voice, she slowly 
read the first verse. 

The plain kitchen was very quiet. The lamp- 
light revealed tlie placid, black face of Aunt 
Phillis, who had dropped her patchwork and was 
listening reverently; it lit up the boyish, but 
earnest face, already kindling with high resolves, 
with which John was listening, and it touched 
with tender grace the face and figure of the little 
reader. With sweet, clear emphasis she slowly 
read, “And Jesus called a little child unto him.” 
And then she paused and looked at John. 

“ That was when Jesus was on earth, Ruthie,” 
John said, in answer to her unspoken question. 

“Was it?” she said eagerly. “Wouldn’t i.t bQ 
beautiful if he was on earth, and could call little 
children to him now, John?” 

“Yes; but I think he does call them, now,” 
John thoughtfully answered. 

“How?” the little girl asked in surprise. 

“Every time you feel in your heart that you 

13 ^ 


150 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


want to be good and love Jesus, I think Jesus 
is calling you to him/^ John simply explained. 

he?^^ Kiith looked down again on her 
book. That little child went to him, John,’^ 
she said, in a moment, in a glad voice, ‘^for listen 
to this: Jesus ^set him in the midst.’ And 
John,” she added, in a low, sweet whisper, I 
am going to him, too.” 

It was only a child’s resolve ; but the child’s 
will adhered to it, the child’s heart responded 
gladly to the love that called it, and years after, 
Ruth looked through memory’s glass back to that 
Bible-reading in the plain old kitchen, as the 
time when, consciously, she took her first’ step 
heavenward. 

If ever a house had a blessin’, this ’ere house 
has one in that boy,” Aunt Phillis said often 
in those days, with emphatic nods of her turbaned 
head ; but John went his quiet way, more anxious 
to be found faithful to his Master than to be 
praised by men, and the years slipped by, until 
he had passed his seventeenth birthday, and had 
been more than three years at Hancock. 

Outwardly, in all that time, his position had 
changed little. He was still plainly and even 
poorly dressed, and his place was still one of 
service and dependence in Professor Selwyn’s 
family ; but he had advanced rapidly in his 
studies — one year more and he would be ready 


SCHOOL- DA YS, 


151 


for college — he was happy in the respect and con- 
fidence of his teachers, and totally unprepared for 
the shadow that fell upon him now. 

He still had charge of the school mails, and 
much to his surprise, one day the principal sud- 
denly entered the little office, where he was open- 
ing the mail-bag and distributing the letters in 
the students^ boxes. 

^^Ah! Good-morning, John, Dr. Clinch said 
carelessly ; the bag is pretty full this morning, 
isn’t it ? ” 

^^Yes, sir,” John answered respectfully, but 
without pausing in his busy work. 

The boys receive a good many letters,” Dr. 
Clinch remarked, in an indifferent tone, after 
watching John a few moments, ^^and I suppose 
many of them contain money. Do you know 
how to tell a money letter, John ? ” 

That depends upon the way in which the 
money is wrapped,” John answered, with a smile. 

Folks show character in their letters just as 
they do in their business, I think. Some people 
just put a bill inside a thin slip of paper, and 
you can be almost sure from the feeling of the en- 
velope that there is soft paper inside, and then 
you are pretty safe in concluding that the soft 
pa])er means money.” 

Is that the only way to tell?” Dr. Clinch 
asked, as he closed the door he had been leaning 


152 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


against, and seated himself near John and watched 
him closely. 

Sometimes yon can tell by holding a letter up 
to the light/^ John replied. Now, I should 
say that this letter,^’ and John held one up as he 
spoke, had money in it. It looks and feels as if 
it had.’^ 

Let me see it,^^ and Dr. Clinch extended his 
hand. 

I have a mind to see if you are a good detec- 
tive, John,^^ he added, as he broke the seal to the 
envelope and drew out the sheet. ^^Ah, yes, you 
are quite right. Here is a ten-dollar bank-note. 
I will keep it, and give it to the owner myself, 
and explain why I opened the envelope. By the 
way, have there been more money letters than 
usual received here lately, John?’^ 

There have been a good many,’^ John care- 
lessly replied, but I don’t know the exact num- 
ber.” 

Dr. Clinch made no reply. The students were 
coming for their letters now, and for a little while 
John was fully occupied in delivering them. 
Just as the last one was handed to its owner. Dr. 
Clinch arose. Come with me to mv office, 
John,” he quietly ordered; I have something to 
say to you.” And without a word John obeyed 
him. 

John,” Dr. Clinch said^ when tliey were in 


SCIIOOL^DA Yii. 


163 


his office and the door closed, ^'John, I liave a 
very disagreeable and painful duty to perform. 
Several letters containing money for students 
here have been recently lost. The first com- 
plaint was made three months ago. We have 
had a detective employed, and we know positively 
that some, at least, of those letters, were received 
at the village post-office. It is reasonable to sup- 
pose they were delivered to you. Tlie serious 
question is, what became of them after they were 
placed in your hands 

Dr. Clinch paused, and looked searchingly at 
John. The boy was very pale, but his clear eyes 
met his inquisitor’s without quailing. 

do not know, Dr. Clinch,” he answered 

firmly. 

Every letter placed in my mall -bag', or that 
has passed through my hands, has been delivered 
to its owner.” 

You are sure of that, John ? ” 

‘^Yes, sir, I am sure.” 

When you first came here, John,” Dr. Clinch 
said, after a little silence, you had no spending 
money. Lately you have been seen with several 
dollars in your pocket-book, and you purchased 
a Shakes])eare and a Milton at the village book- 
store. Where did you get your money, John?” 
have been reading proof for the editor of 
the Hancock Herald the boy answered firmly. 


151 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Reading proof, with all your other reading 
and studying, John 

Yes, sir. The editor will confirm my words,^^ 
the boy said proudly. 

You have call’ed upon a good witness to tes- 
tify in your favor, John. The Hancock Herald, 
as you probably know, has passed within a few 
days into other hands, and the editor you mean 
sailed yesterday for Glasgow.^^ 

John grew, if possible, paler, but made no an- 
swer. 

Dr. Clinch was silent for awhile, and played a 
tattoo on his table, as he often did when per- 

^^John,’’ he said, soon, I wish you would 
trust me, and tell me the truth.^^ 

The truth is what I have said, sir.^^ 

I am afraid you are mistaken,^^ Dr. Clinch 
said, in a grave voice. It gives me great pain 
to doubt you, and knowing how free from re- 
proach your school-life here has been, I would not 
suspect you now if I could possibly avoid doing 
so ; but, John, here comes the blackest possible 
proof of your guilt. At my request. Professor 
Selwyn, this morning, after you left for school, 
examined your room, and among your private 
papers in — I think he said — your journal, he 
found these envelopes.’^ And Dr. Clinch took 
out of a drawer two torn envelopes addressed to 



SCHOOL- DA YS, 


155 


students then in the school, and bearing post- 
marks that proved that they had passed through 
the mail. 

These two young men have both lost money/^ 
Dr. Clinch said severelv. It was sent from the 
places these envelopes were mailed from, and sent 
also at the very time these envelopes were dated. 
John, unless you can satisfactorily explain your 
possession of these envelopes, and prove your in- 
nocence, it will be my sorrowful duty to have 
you arrested as a thief.^’ 

John pressed his hands to his heart, as if a 
knife had stabbed him. Whiter he could not 
look, but his face was very calm, as he said in a 
low tone : I would explain it, if I could ; but it 

is all a terrible mystery to me. I cannot account 
for it.’’ 

Dr. Clinch was a man who aimed always to be 
perfectly just, but he was also a man of terrible 
severity when dealing with those wdioui he be- 
lieved to be guilty and unrepentant. John’s 
record through all the years he had known him 
had been unblemished ; his character for integrity 
w’as higher than any other boy’s in the school ; 
but still, here were the black facts testifying 
against him, and he either could not or w^ould not 
explain them. Dr. Clinch w^aited some minutes, 
but the silence remained unbroken. 

I am sorry for you, John,” he said then. 


156 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


as he toiichecl a little bell on his table, ^^but you 
will have to learn from bitter experience now, 
what you have all your life been carefully taught, 
that the way of the transgressor is hard/^ 

John still remained silent, and, fully convinced 
now that he was guilty, Dr. Clinch turned to the 
servant who, in a minute, had answered his ring. 

Call the constable,^^ he ordered, in a cold, 
stern voice, and in a very short time John was 
lodged in a prisoner’s cell. 

No words could describe the poor boy’s agony 
as the iron door closed upon him. He was inno- 
cent, and yet he knew not how to prove his inno- 
cence. His simple word would not be accepted, 
but he could offer no other evidence. All his 
life he had felt the chill weight of a shadow that 
had saddened and subdued him ; but the shadow 
that had fallen upon him now seemed too sad, too 
dark, and too crushing for him to bear its weight 
and live. He threw himself prostrate on the 
bare, stone floor, and minutes that seemed like 
weary hours dragged by and brought him no re- 
lief. 

He knew he ought to pray, but heart and faith 
alike seemed paralyzed, and prayer, in these first, 
blank moments of distress, seemed like a broken 
reed that could give him no support. But, sud- 
denly, as he lay there moaning in his pain, with 
a power that calmed the fierce struggle in his soul 


SCHOOL-DA YS, 


157 


/ 


came the memory of tlie solemn promise, ^^Call 
upon me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver 
thee.’’ 

It was a promise, but it was linked with a com- 
mand. The troubled soul must do its part, and 
call,” and from the depths John’s cry went up 
to the Father, whose children know him to be 
the hearer and answerer of prayer. 

The call went up. The answer came in a 
peace the world with all its wrongs could not de- 
stroy, and John rose from the floor, once more 
calm and strong. He could bear even his dis- 
grace now; he could wait until, in his own good 
time, the Lord lifted the shadow and made his 
honor clear and stainless as the sunlight. 

Slowly an hour or more went by, then quick 
footsteps approached the door, it was opened, and 
Professor Selwyn came in. John had known 
him as a man who, though indifferently kind, 
seemed always absorbed and unapproachable. 
But now the professor’s manner was greatly 
changed ; with a quick step he came to John’s 
side and laid his hand on his shoulder, 

^‘Did you think I iiad deserted you?” he 
asked. My poor boy, I had to comply with the 
principal’s request and search your room this 
morning, but I never supposed he would push 
matters so energetically, and I have come now to 
assure you that my confidence in you is still un- 
14 


t 




158 OUT OF THE SHADOW, 

shaken. T have bailed vou out, John. Come 
liome now, and we will soon ferret out yonr ene- 
my, and prove yonr innocence/’^ 

He had not lost all his friends, then ; better 
even than release from prison was the comfort 
that assurance gave the troubled boy, and there 
was gratitude as well as sorrow in his heart as he 
returned with Professor Selwyn to his home. 

When Professor Selwyn was once interested, 
and saw the necessity of leaving Greek manu- 
scripts alone, and attending to the plain realities 
of every-day life, he could act with energy and 
wisdom. Mr. Crosby was immediately sum- 
moned, and the kind minister, accompanied by 
Mr. Millington, was soon on the spot. A skil- 
ful lawyer was engaged, and every possible means 
to prove John^s innocence employed. The editor 
of the Hancock Heixild had sailed, as Dr. Clinch 
said, for Europe, but a telegram met him on his 
arrival at Queenstown, and his answer fully 
corroborated John’s statement. 

It remained now to explain the presence of 
those envelopes in John’s room and to find the 
real thief. 

^^Have you any enemies in the school?” the 
lawyer asked him on the day of his examination 
in his office. 

John did not know of one; and to the honor 
of the Hancock students it ought to be recorded 


SCHOOL-DAYS, 


159 


that in the hour of their schoolmate’s troubles 
they rallied around him^ and loudly asserted their 
belief in his innocence. 

Have you any acquaintances in the village?” 
he was asked now. 

No, none in particular ; certainly none who 
would wish to harm me.” 

Don’t be too unsuspicious/’ the lawyer ratlier 
cynically observed. Have you any acquaint- 
ances in the post-office ? ” 

Only the postmaster, and the clerk who fills 
my mail-bag,” John answered. 

‘^Ah ! has he ever visited you in your room ?” 
John started ; a sudden remembrance brought 
him at once quick relief and sharp pain. To 
his generous nature it was a bitter thing to be 
forced to prove his own innocence at the expense 
of another’s good name. But the lawyer waited 
for his answer, and he briefly stated the facts that 
last question had recalled to his remembrance. 
The young post-office clerk had met him in the 
bookstore when he purchased his Shakespeare ; 
he had expressed great admiration for that poet 
himself, and had proposed to John that they 
should read some of the plays together ; only an 
evening or two before John’s arrest he had been 
in his room, and they had read Macbeth. 

The lawyer nodded sagaciously. Pity he 
hadn’t been more impressed with Macbeth’s re- 
morse,” he thought, but he only asked : 


160 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


‘^Dicl you leave your room during his stay?’^ 
‘^Only for a few moments/^ John answered; 
*^^Aunt Phillis called me, and I went to the 
kitchen for about ten minutes/^ 

Where was your journal ? 

On the table, where I have always kept it.’^ 
Ah ! The lawyer paused, made a brief note 
of the conversation, and then turned and looked 
at Dr. Clinch, Professor Selwyn, Mr. Millington 
and Mr. Crosby, who were all present and all 
watching him with interest. 

Before we proceed any farther, I think I 
will have an interview with that young clerk,^^ ho 
quietly remarked, and followed by John’s anxious 
friends, he left the office. 

A few hours later John was summoned to Pro- 
fessor Selwyn’s library. 

It is all right, my dear boy,” Mr. Millington 
said, as he took his hand. 

^^Yes, you are clear; your innocence is clear as 
the sunshine,” Mr. Crosby explained. 

I knew I could trust you, John,” Professor 
Selwyn said, in his calm, quiet voice. 

Thank God,” John said, with solemn grati- 
tude, as the shadow that had threatened to blight 
his young life was so mercifully cleared away. 

A little later, when they were all calmer, they 
told him of their interview with the young clerk, 
and of his full confession. He had stolen the 


SCnOOL-DA YS, 


161 


money, and when he found that the lost letters 
were being searched for, and a close watch kept 
for the thief, he had selected John, on account of 
his connection with the post-office, as the one 
most likely to remove suspicion from himself. 
Now, when his guilt was revealed, interested 
friends came forward to shield him, the stolen 
money was refunded, and the young man re- 
moved from Hancock, and John never met him 
again. 

There fell no other shadow to darken John^s 
school-days, and his last year at Hancock was his 
happiest year there, for he had been tried, and, 
like gold from the fire, came forth the brighter 
for the trial. 

From that time Professor Selwyn became one 
of his warmest friends. John had his place now 
at his table, and was always welcome in his 
library, and the quiet, studious man grew daily 
more interested in the boy whose character prophe- 
sied only good of his future. 


CHAPTER IX. 


SOLITUDE. 


“ I am glad to think 


I am not bound to make the wrong go right, 

But only to discover, and to do 

With cheerful heart, the work that God appoints/’ 


— Jean Ingelow, 


T was ill the autumn of his seventeenth year 


that John entered college : four years later he 
left his Alma Mater after graduating with high 
honors. 

He had worked his way through college as he 
had through Hancock Academy. He had found 
that there were many ways in which an educated^ 
upright^ conscientious boy — who was able and ready 
to work — could help himself, and he had quickly 
availed himself of every opportunity that was 
offered to him. When he entered college he had 
refused any longer to receive even his clothing 
from Mr. Millington. At eighteen his adopted 
brothers and sisters had all supported themselves, 
and with manly pride John decided that what the 
own cliildreii did, the adopted child ought to do 
and would do. 

His course had not been always bright with sun- 



( 162 ) 


SOLITUDE, 


163 


shine; he had known' many dark days^ when, like 
the children of Israel in their wilderness wander- 
ings, his heart had felt much discouraged because 
of the way ; and, like all other strong natures, he 
knew well what it was to struggle with doubts 
and fierce temptations. But as the wild storms 
that sweep the forest only make the young trees 
strike their roots deeper and stand more firmly in 
their places, so the struggles of those early years, 
had only made John stronger, manlier, and more 
self-reliant — because more God-dependent. And 
now, as he stood upon the threshold of manhood, 
those who watched him felt that, if health was 
spared him, he would carve his own way, and 
carve it well. 

Tenax iwopositi — tenacious of purpose — whether 
his family motto or not, described him well. 

What he attempted he accomplished. The 
friend or the cause that he espoused, he clung to. 
The principles that he professed to believe, he 
adhered to and supported. 

He still loved music devotedly: loved it even 
better, perhaps, as he studied and understood its 
exquisite harmonies; but though in his boyish 
dreams he had thought sometimes that he would 
like to devote his life to music, he had no such 
ambition now. 

His friends had often wondered* what profession 
he would choose; medicine, or the ministry; it 


164 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


must be one of the two, they thought; but John 
quietly made his own choice, and to Mr. Crosby’s 
disappointment, though not to his surprise, he 
' chose the law. 

He had found out what he was made for. The 
legal mind, the intense sense of justice, the burning 
indignation at wrong, that the minister had long 
years before discovered in him, w^ere not given 
him for nothing. And as John looked out upon 
the world, and saw the wrongs that were every- 
where crying for redress, and the woes that were 
pleading for help, he longed to take his place as a 
soldier in the struggle, and fight with all his 
strength for the right. 

I found out what I was made for the day 
Lawyer Osborne examined me,” he said smilingly 
to Mr. Crosby one day in summer, during a brief 
visit to Hermitsville, ^^and I hope,” he added, 
almost solemnly, I hope it may some day be in 
my power to do for some poor boy just what he 
did for me.” 

Ah,” Mr. Crosby answered, with a little of 
the disappointment he felt finding expression in 
his voice, if lawyers only used their skill' in 
righting wrongs, John, their profession would be a 
stronger power in this world for righteousness 
than, I grieve to say, I believe it to be to-day.” 

Then, if shrewd, unscrupulous men have ever 
dared to make the law only a stepping-stone by 


SOLITUDE. 


1G5 


which to attain to fame and wealth, there is the 
greater need that faithful Christian men should 
'devote themselves to it, and free it from reproacli,’’ 
John said, with earnestness. The law! why it 
is the imperishable granite that supports society, 
Mr. Crosby. Think how grandly that glorious 
old Jewish law stands there, at the very begin- 
ning of the book we both reverence and love.^^ 

Mr. Crosby shook his head a little sadly; I 
will not argue with you, my boy,^^ he said. ‘^So 
long as there is sin in this world, I suppose there 
must be lawyers. But I did hope,^^ and the good 
minister’s eyes rested affectionately on the young 
man as he spoke, did hope that you would 
make a different choice, and devote your noble 
powers to the doing of the noblest work God ever 
intrusted to a human soul, that of saving your 
fellow-men.” 

The young man’s face grew very serious, but a 
beautiful light shone in his clear eyes, as he left 
his seat, and came and stood beside his faithful 
friend. 

Dear Mr. Crosby,” he said, and his voice 
trembled with feeling as he spoke, hear me now. 
I have consecrated myself, body, soul and mind, to 
my Maker. And here upon this book that holds 
his sacred law” — and John laid his hand rever- 
ently on the Bible as he spoke — I do solemnly 
promise to devote all my powers to serving him, and 


168 






OUT OF THE SHADOW, 

to helping and saving iny fellow-men. Through- 
out my life — with God’s help — I will keep myself 
pure from frauds and all false dealing, and I will 
undertake no cause where there is not a wrong to 
be righted, a right to be maintained, and the 
justice and honor of my Father in heaven, and 
my brother upon earth, to be supported and vindi- 
cated.” 

Amen,” Mr. Crosby said reverently. ^Mt is 
a vow, my boy ] may God give you strength to 
keep it.” 

There was moisture in the young man’s eyes 
of whicli he had no cause to be ashamed, and going 
to a window he stood looking out on the familiar 
landscape he had known from childhood, until 
presently Mr. Crosby quietly asked : 

How old are you now, John ? ” 

Twenty-two next Christmas.” 

Mr. Crosby waited a moment, and looked as if 
he were considering some serious question, but 
when he spoke he only said: 

^^Now that you have chosen your profession, 
you have to prepare yourself for its practice. 
When do you begin ?” 

John left the window and came back to his seat 
near his friend. 

I have, at least, two years of hard study and 
reading before me, before I can hope to be admitted 
to the bar,” he answered, in a sober, business-like 


SOLITUDE. 


167 


tone, but it is possible for me to do a good deal 
of that reading by myself; and though I intend to 
begin 'work immediately, I do not propose this 
winter to attend lectures; instead of doing that, I 
am going to teach 

Teach ! Mr. Crosby exclaimed. Take care, 
my boy; the strongest mind will fail if taxed 
beyond endurance. Remember, when the winter 
promises to be long, that man is sensible who, 
having just so much fuel, burns it prudently and 
does not consume it all in one great fire.’’ 

John nodded gravely. Your simile is a very 
true one,” he said, but, dear Mr. Crosby, I am 
very strong; work has never hurt me yet. And,” 
he added in a reverent tone, believing, as I 
firmly do, that all my powers of mind and body 
alike belong to him who created me in his image, 
and confessing, as I also do, that I am accountable 
to ray Creator for the care I take of his gifts, as 
well as for the use I make of them, can not you 
trust me to squander none of them recklessly? 
Look at me,” he continued more lightly ; if Her- 
cules could perform twelve gigantic tasks, don’t you 
tliink I am able to perform at least one ordinary 
one?” 

Mr. Crosby smiled, took off his spectacles, 
polished and replaced them, and then with an 
expression at once amused and thoughtful looked 
seriously at the young man, who, standing before 


168 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


> him with folded arms, waited in silence for his 
verdict. 

What Mr. Crosby saw he did not express in 
words ; but tliis is what he thought : 

Tall, strong, and finely formed, with a noble 
head, a face that denotes sweetness of temper, and 
purity of heart, as well as rare gifts of mind, and 
an air and manner at once winning and command- 
ing ; yes, you are fitted to do more than an ordinary 
man’s work in the world. The tasks of a great 
man are waiting for you in the future, and when 
you meet them may you prove equal to them. 

Well, sir?” John asked after the silence had 
lasted several minutes. 

The minister slightly started, shook off the 
dream into which he was falling and said, with a 
smile, Are you seeking a compliment, fair sir? I 
have none to give thee, but go thy way, and 
remember, that to whomsoever much is given, of 
him shall much be required.” 

A few weeks after this conversation, on a lovely 
golden day late in September, at a lonely little 
station, hidden in the woods, far down on the 
south side of Long Island, John left the cars, and 
looked curiously about him for the conveyance 
that letters had promised should meet him there. 

A little boy, standing alone at one end of the 
long platform, looked shyly at him a minute, and 
then slowly, with many sidelong glances, ap- 
proached him. 


SOLITUDE, 


169 


‘^Goocl morning, sir,’^ he said bashfully, but in 
a voice, and with a manner, that at once denoted 
good-breeding. ^^Are you the new tutor ? 

John looked down at the little man with a 
smile, that, like a warm sunbeam, quickly thawed 
all the ice between them. I believe I am to be 
somebody’s tutor,” he said pleasantly, ‘^do you 
know whose?” 

The eyes that had been watching him with a 
very sober and doubtful expression brightened 
instantly. I guess you’re to be mine,” their 
owner said in a confidential tone, as if he felt he 
was imparting important information. Mine — 

I’m Jack, you know — and Will’s. Will is wait- 
ing for you in the carriage,” he proceeded, as he 
pointed to a handsome, open carriage, drawn up 
under the trees near by, and made a motion to 
lead John to it. He wouldn’t come to meet you 
first, ’cause you see tutors are very uncertain ; you 
can’t tell about ’em beforehand, and Will didn’t 
know as he’d like you.” 

It was impossible not to smile a little at this 
frank information, but John’s tone was very grave 
as he asked : 

“ What do you think of the prospect, now ? 
Should you say there was any hope for me with 
Will, now?” 

You don’t feel bad about it, do you ? ” the 
little fellow asked anxiously, impressed by the 
15 


170 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


gravity of John^s voice. I don’t believe you 
need. Will’s pretty ’cided, and makes up his 
mind for himself ; but so do I/’ he added proudly. 
‘^And I tell you/’ and he came close to John as 
he spoke, I don’t feel a bit afraid of you, now ; ” 
with an emphasis on that last word, that plainly 
told how great the fear had been. 

Very oddly, as John listened to the innocent 
boy, his thoughts went back to his first evening in 
Aunt Phillis’ kitchen, and Ruth’s sunny face 
seemed to be looking gravely, and yet trustfully 
at him, just as it had looked then. He had never 
seen her since he left Hancock at-the close of his 
school-life. He had seen Professor Selwyn 
several times while at college, but it was more 
than four years now since he last bade Ruth 
good-bye. He had come to this quiet, out-of-the- 
way country nook through the recommendation 
of one of his college professors. 

The family was a very old one, he had been 
told, living on a fine old place that belonged to 
their ancestors before the Revolution. He had 
no reason to suppose that there was any relation- 
ship existing between them and Professor Selwyn, 
and yet, how very like was that frank, confiding 
boy, to the winning little girl who had so wonder- 
fully brightened his own boyhood. 

Well, he concluded in a moment, the resem- 
blance he fancied he could detect between them 


SOLITUDE. 


171 


was probably only due to some curious chain of 
association, such as often puzzles and eludes us. 
But the ‘^electric chord wherewith we^re darkly 
bound had been struck, and John walked to the 
carriage, and made the acquaintance of the very 
^^^cided^^ Will, with his mind full at once of 
memories of the past, and speculations as to the 
future. But he could not long continue to dream 
with such a sky above his head, and such merry, 
talkative companions as the two boys beside him. 
The ride was a long one. 

These are all my father’s woods,” Will said 
proudly and abruptly; don’t you like them?” 
^^Yes, very much, indeed,” John pleasantly 
answered. 

^^So do I,” Will emphatically declared, com- 
pletely won at last by the new tutor’s admiration 
of his old ancestral inheritance. 

I never get tired of riding in them,” the little 
boy said soon, with the ardor of a true lover of 
trees and forests, but we are most through them 
now, for there’s the gate.” 

The gate opened in a minute, and they entered 
a winding carriage drive bordered on each side 
with tall evergreens, that even on that sunshiny 
day threw shadows across their way. 

It was a beautiful drive, and when the carriage 
stopped John saw before him an old commodious 
house, surrounded by grand old trees that might 


172 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


have been thought a continuation of the forest, and 
that told a peaceful story of long years of slow and 
undisturbed growth, before the house rippled 
and flashed the waters of a beautiful bay, while 
from beyond the bay 

The deep-voiced neighboring ocean 
Spake, and in accents disconsolate answered 
The wail of the forest/* 


John^s sympathy with nature w^as very great, 
and his first thought was one of almost passionate 
delight at the view before him. He was greeted 
very cordially by Mr. and Mrs. Rolfe, the parents 
of the boys, and soon felt that beautiful scenery 
was not the only pleasing feature of Solitude — as 
the old place was named — but that its greatest 
charm consisted in its possessors. 

They were true and noble people, who, though 
justly proud of their honorable old name and 
family, were far above all purse-pride littleness, 
and believed that the teacher to whom they could 
safely intrust the education of their boys, merited, 
and ought to receive, their highest esteem. 

Happy in his new home, John soon found his 
work no tax, but instead, a positive pleasure. 
Jack and Will were manly little fellows, possessed 
of bright, inquiring minds,' very ready to receive 
information, and equally ready to respond to kind- 
ness. If John did not, like their former tutor, 


SOLITUDE. 


173 


inspire them with a fear that was akin to dislike, 
and which made them always, when possible, shun 
his society, he did better. He won their confi- 
dence, gained their respect, and made them quickly 
understand that while he would tolerate no wilful 
wrong-doing, he felt a genuine interest in their 
hoyish sports, and was always ready to sympathize 
with and help them in all their little troubles and 
difficulties. 

His own studying meanwhile prospered well, 
and thus steadily and pleasantly employed, time, 
as it is wont to do when nothing eventful marks 
its progress, went by on slippers that were at once 
swift and silent; and one morning with a start 
of surprise, John listened to his little pupils, as 
half wild with delight, they reminded him that 
grammar and histories were to be closed for a 
week, for Christmas was coming, and with Christ- 
mas not only Santa Claus with his gifts, but — 
what was still better — an uncle and aunt who 
had been living abroad for many years, and a 
cousin who was, as Will enthusiastically asserted, 
‘^everything a girl ought to be.^^ 

“You will remain with us during the holi- 
days, I hope, Mr. Millington,^^ Mrs. Rolfe said, 
in her pleasant and sincere voice. “ If you have 
no previous engagement to call you away, I be- 
lieve you will enjoy meeting our friends, and I 
am sure your presence here will add much to 


174 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


their enjoyment. I do not want them/^ she ac- 
'knowledged with a smile, to find Solitude too 

Mr. Rolfe laughed, and turning to John, said 
playfully, Mrs. Rolfe is devotedly attached to 
Solitude, Mr. Millington, but, notwithstanding 
that, she fully endorses Cowper’s words : 

^ But grant me still a friend in my retreat, 

Whom I may whisper — Solitude is sweet/ 

^^Yes,^^ Mr. Eolfe continued warmly, ^^you 
must, by all means, remain with us, Mr. Milling- 
ton. The holidays will probably be very cold, 
but with the help of warm hearths, and warmer 
hearts, we’ll ‘ keep our Christmas merry still,’ es- 
pecially if you will stay to help us.” 

Thus kindly urged, John gratefully accepted 
the sincere invitation, and found himself looking 
forward with unusual interest to the coming of 
the expected guests. 

^^You see,” little Jack told him confidentially, 
on the day they were to arrive, ‘‘ we don’t know 
our uncle and aunt very well. They have been 
travelling all over the world, for a great many 
years, and so of course we haven’t seen much of 
them. Aunt Wilma is papa’s sister, but she 
doesn’t laugh like papa, for she lost her only lit- 
tle boy a great many years ago, and mamma says 
she has been living under a shadow ever since. 



SOLITUDE. 


175 


I think it must be dreadful to feel a shadow on 
% 

you all the time, don’t you?” And the little 
boy looked, with eyes that had seen nothing of 
life but its sunshine, inquiringly at John. 

"With a sad remembrance of the shadow whose 
dark folds he never expected to have lifted from 
his own heart, John nodded gravely, and then he 
said ; But your cousin — doesn’t she make sun- 
shine for your aunt ? ” 

guess she would, if she lived with her,” 
Jack said, with enthusiasm, she’d make sun- 
shine for anybody she belonged to ; but you see, 
she doesn’t belong to aunt and uncle. She is 
mamma’s cousin’s daughter, and we never, knew 
her until last summer. And now,” and the lit- 
tle man came close to John’s side as he spoke, 
‘AVill and I feel a great ’sponsibility about her, 
for mamma says we must try to entertain her, 
and help to make a good time for her. And you 
know, Mr. Millington, Will and I don’t know 
much about what makes a girl’s good time, and 
we want you to help us find out, and make it for 
her, will you, please ? ” And both Jack and Will, 
who had joined him, waited anxiously for an an- 
swer. 

John laughed. My knowledge in that di- 
rection is not much greater than yours,” he said ; 

but such as it is, it shall be at your service;” 
and well content with that promise the little boys 


176 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


ran off and left the young man to his own reflec- 
tions : reflections that, on the eve of his birth- 
day, as well as of Christmas, were at once glad 
with the memories of the song first chanted over 
Bethlehem, and sad with the bitter consciousness 
that he was nameless and alone, without one heart 
that was bound to his by the strong ties of a com- 
mon familv and the same blood. 

But his nature was too thoroughly sound and 
sweet for him long to indulge thoughts that 
could, with any truth, be called morbid, and 
checking a sigh he whispered softly. 

What God hath ordered must be best/' 

And then he left the school-room and went down 
stairs to the library. 


CHAPTER X. 


STEANGERS 


Ships that pass in the night and speak each other in pass- 


Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness ; 

So, on the ocean of life, we jiass and speak one another. 

Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.” 


OHN found the library, as he tliouglit he 


would, bright with lamp-light, and cheer- 
fill with the blaze of a great log fire, but deserted. 

The short winter day had closed early, and it 
was now but little past* five. The guests would 
not arrive for some time, and su}3per would wait 
their coming, and not sorry to be at liberty to 
choose his own society, John went to one of the 
well filled book-cases. 

He said to himself: ‘^It is Christmas eve, and 
whatever softens the heart, and fills it with 
thoughts of peace and good will to men, is wel- 
come at this time.^^ He was about to take 
Dickens' Christmas Stories " from the shelf, 
when his eyes fell on Little Dorrit". The 
Christmas Stories" were familiar to him as 
M (177) 


— Longfellow. 



f 


178 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

/^_twice-tolcl tales/^ but he had never read Little 
Dorrit ; and with the thought, where there is 
so much still unread, I cannot afford to spend 
my time in re-reading well known books, he ‘ 
took the story of the brave, unselfish life, over 
which so many have laughed and cried, and was 
soon in fancy in Marseilles, 

Forgetful of the passing of time, he was still 
reading when the boys bounded into the library. 

Mr. Millington,’’ they cried in great ex- 
citement, ^Hhey’ve come. The parlor is full of 
people, and the hall is full of boxes — Christmas 
boxes, you know — and now you must come, too, 
and be introduced to them.” 

‘^To which,” John asked teasingly; to the 
people or the boxes ? ” 

^^Oh, you know, Mr. Millington,” Jack an- 
swered, as too impatient to stand still he danced 
about the room on one foot; never mind about 
grammar on Christmas eve; you understand what 
we mean. Mamma wants you, and you must 
come.” 

Must I ? ” John said pleasantly ; well, must 
is a very imperative word, and I suppose it must 
be obeyed. But let me first finish this sentence,” 
and turning again to his book, John slowly read 
a sentence that had at that moment caught his 
eye: 

In our course through life, we shall meet the 


STRAXGEnS, 


179 


\ 


people wlio are coming to meet iis from many 
strange places, and by many strange roads, and 
^vhat is set to ns to do to them, and what is set to 
them to do to us, will all be done/^ 

John closed his book with a serious smile, 
^^That is a fatalistic, and yet a solemn thought,’^ 
he gravely soliloquized, but it need not trouble 
one who is a Christian. We do not meet nor 
part by chance. Tlie children of the Father need 
not fear to meet those whom the Father has 
willed for them to meet, nor dread the conse- 
quences of deeds the Father has appointed to be 
done.’^ 

‘^Aren’t you ever coming, Mr. Millington?’^ 
Will asked impatiently. 

Yes,” John answered, with a little secret re- 
luctance, and rising, he followed the boys to the 
parlor, while oddly through his mind that old 
thought ])ersisted in passing — ^AVe shall meet 
the people who are coming to meet us ; and what 
they have to do to us, and we to do to them, will 
all be done.” 

Warm, bright, and luxurious, Mrs. Rolfe’s 
parlor would have been an inviting room to enter 
had it been empty of everything but furniture 
and ornaments ; but one glance at the group 
gathered about the fire, made John feel that it 
would be pleasant to be with them and in the at- 
mosphere they seemed unconsciously to create. 


180 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


Come in, Mr. Millington/’ Mrs. Kolfe said, 
as the young man appeared in the doorway; 1 
was beginning to fear the boys had forgotten 
their errand.”. And with a manner that plainly 
expressed her high regard for him, Mrs. Rolfe 
presented John to the lovely gray-haired woman, 
and grave, noble-looking man who were standing 
beside her. 

My brother and sister, Mr. and Mrs. Scott,” 
she said, but John scarcely heard tlie name. 

He was not romantic, not apt to have foolish 
fancies about the people he met in society, nor to 
be weakly impressed by the stray thoughts he 
chanced upon in books; but something about 
those two calm strangers moved him as strangers 
had never before had power to do ; and though 
the introduction was of the quietest and most 
commonplace nature, and they glided directly 
into a matter-of-fact talk about the weather, the 
holidays, and the children, John was conscious 
all the while of a subtle influence he had never 
felt before, and in every pause of the conversa- 
tion a low voice seemed to whisper — ^AVhat they 
have to do to us, and what we have to do to them, 
will all be done.” 

Remenibering the boys’ words about a parlor 
full of people, John was a little surprised to find 
there only Mr. and Mrs. Scott ; but in a few 
minutes light feet descended the stairs, and then 


/ 


STRANGERS. 181 

gay voices were heard laugliing merrily in the 
hall, and quoting playfully, 

“ By the pricking of iny thumbs 
Something wicked this way comes.’^ 

Mr. Rolfe opened the door to admit the new 
comers. 

Is it, open locks whoever knocks ? ” one of 
them asked in gay response to Mr. Rolfe’s salute. 

he said, as he took her hand, I per- 
ceive we have been reading Shakespeare, since we 
in it last. Miss Ruthie.’^ 

^^Not much/’ she replied demurely, ‘‘only just 
enough to 

** ‘ Endow thy purposes 

With words that make them known.’ ” 

“Miss Ruth,^^ Mr. Rolfe replied, “in return 
for that, you may expect to have my entire stock 
of quotations fired at your wise head some day, 
but you may go. Scot-free, now — since you are 
among the Scotts,^^ he added laughingly, as he 
dropped her hand and turned to greet her com- 
panions, a young girl and a gentleman, who were 
evidently as much at home with him as Miss 
Ruth herself. 

“ It has taken you two young ladies nearly as 
long to put girdles about your waists, as it took 
Puck to put one ‘ round about the earth,’ ” Mr. 

16 


182 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Scott said with a smile, as the young people ap- 
proached the fire. We have been waiting, and 
— what is of still more importance — Mrs. Rolfe’s 
supper has been w^aiting for you at least thirty 
minutes.’’ 

‘^Have we kept you waiting? I am very 
sorry,” and the young girl called Miss Ruth 
turned regretfully to Mrs. Rolfe. We did not 
mean to be so tardy, but we found our rooms so 
very w’arm and pleasant that we forgot to hurry.” 
That is certainly a compliment to Mrs. Rolfe’s 
rooms, but what is it to Mrs. Rolfe’s friends, 
Ruthie?” Mr. Scott said tcasingly. 

The color deepened in the girlish face, and Mrs. 
Rolfe came to her relief with the playful words. 

You might tell him that it is just what some of 
Mrs. Rolfe’s friends deserve for being such un- 
merciful teasers, Ruthie. But come, I have a new 
friend here, to whom I wish to introduce you.” 
And she turned to John, who had been waiting 
quietly beside Mrs. Scott, an amused listener to 
the shuttle-cock of conversation that had been 
playing about him. 

But Mr. Rolfe had anticipated his wife, and 
even as she spoke, he was saying, My friend, 
Mr. Millington, my cousin. Miss Talbot, my friend, 
Mr. Thorn.” 

With quiet politeness John acknowledged the in- 
troductions. His first impressions of these two 


STHANG£HS, 


new acquaintances were neither pleasant nor dis- 
agreeable, but totally indifferent ones. Miss 
Talbot was pretty, and Mr. Thorn gentlemanly, 
but they belonged to the great mass of human 
beings, who are, to superficial vision, simply 
commonplace. Neither attractive nor repulsive, 
such people meet and pass us every day, and our 
feelings towards them are stamped with calm in- 
difference, until suddenly, it may be, and in some 
unexpected way, some lightning flash reveals to us 
the heart, that underneath the commonplace ex- 
terior is throbbing with hopes and fears, or loves 
and hates, peculiarly its own. And then, it may 
be, we are taught the solemn truth, that there is 
nothing so common that in God’s hands it cannot 
be cleansed, and set apart for some beautiful or 
sacred use. 

Quietly, through those two introductions, Mrs. 
Rolfe waited, while on the face of the young girl 
standing beside her, surprise, and doubt, and glad 
ex|)ectation were oddly blended. 

My friend, Mr. Millington, my cousin, Miss 
Selwyn,” Mrs. Rolfe said, in the polite, but indif- 
ferent tone in which such introductions are usu- 
ally given ; but with unaffected pleasure the young 
girl extended her hand. 

John,” she said in a voice that gave em- 
phasis to her words, I am so glad.” 

So am I,” John quickly answered, unmindful 


184 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


in his pleasure and surprise of the interested eyes 
"that were watching them. am very glad and 
very much surprised. You have almost taken 
away ray breathy Ruthie/^ he added, forgetting 
for the moment the years that had passed since he 
last saw her, and speaking her name simply as he 
had done when she was a little child. 

^^And you didn^t know me?^^ she asked, with a 
faint trace of reproach in her tone; ‘^why, John, 
how could you help knowing me ? 

It is the fault of the years, not of my 
memory he answered playfully; but with a 
full and sudden recognition of all the years had 
done, and also with a vivid consciousness of the 
eyes that were watching them. 

Those eyes had watched them with expressions 
as various as were the characters of their owners, 
but now, in a voice at once curious and earnest, 
Mr. Rolfe said : The question I want to ask, 

now, is a slight variation from the old one, ‘ when 
shall we three meet again and it is this, where 
have you two met before? Come, Euthie, tell us 
where ? 

Ruth Selwyn blushed and hesitated. Mr. 
Rolfe’s question had suddenly reminded her that 
John’s position in her father’s family was very 
unlike the one he appeared to occupy at Solitude. 
In her home, he had been simply a poor boy, 
doing her father’s errands, and though during his 


STRANGERS. 


185 


Inst year with them, Professor Selwyn had treated 
him with great kindness and consideration, he had 
never stood in her father’s parlor on the plane of 
social equality he appeared to stand on here. She 
did not know how sensitive he might be about 
having his early life referred to, and after a 
moment’s pause she soberly answered : I met 

Mr. Millington in Hancock, cousin William.” 

No one ventured to ask another question, and 
there the matter might have rested for the present, 
had not John’s truthful conscience demanded that 
more should be told. He would have no false 
pretences in his life, and he was firmly resolved to 
make no attempt in the presence of the rich and 
influential to appear what he was not. 

I owe Miss Selwvn’s father a debt I can never 
repay, Mr. Polfe,” he said, as he turned and 
• looked at the gentleman with clear eyes that had 
nothing to conceal. was a very poor boy, 

struggling to acquire an education, and Professor 
Selwyn, in return for such service as I could 
render in his household outside of my school 
duties, gave me a home in his family, supplied me 
with books, befriended me when I was in diffi- 
culty, and made it possible for me to study at 
Hancock, until I was prepared for college. It is 
nearly five years since I left Hancock; but. Miss 
Selwyn,” and John looked at the young girl with 
a smile that was full of feeling, not a day passes 


1S6 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


that I do not think of your father with increasing' 
gratitude/^ 

During this simple, but manly statement, John 
did not see the looks expressive of both admiration 
and appreciative sympathy with which Mr. and 
Mrs. Scott had listened to him, and neither did he 
observe the puzzled faces with which Mr. Thorn 
and Miss Talbot were regarding him. They could 
not understand the high motives that prompted 
liim to break the silence about his past, which 
he might have maintained so easily. But John 
had not spoken with any thought of being either 
understood or admired; he had simply told the 
truth, because, to him, no other course was pos- 
sible, and the consequences of that truth-telling he 
could safely leave with him who has promised to 
honor the truthful. 

^^And have you not seen the professor and Miss 
Ruth since you left Hancock Mrs. Rolfe asked, 
Muth the woman-like feeling, that if a story was 
good, she could not have too much of it. 

The professor two or three times at college,^^ 
John quietly answered, ^^but not Miss Selwyn.^^ 

^^And haveiiT you heard from them since you 
have been here ; didn’t you even know we were 
related?” Mrs. Rolfe continued to question cu- 
riously. 

^^My ignorance is to be pitied,” John answered, 
with a smile, for I knew nothing, Mrs. Rolfe. 


STRANGERS, 


187 


Professor Selwyn, like Carlyle, believes that 
silence is golden, and consequently he seldom 
breaks that silence with a letter. I wrote to him 
last summer, before I thought of coming to Soli- 
tude, and I regret to say he has not yet favored 
me with a reply 

Ruth said quickly, with an affectionate 
fear that her father might be misunderstood, 
‘^you must not judge of papa’s friendships from 
either his spoken or his written words, Mr. Mill- 
ino;ton. If his letters to his friends are like an^el 
visits, in their rarity and brevity, I think his 
thoughts of his friends are like angel thoughts in 
their charity and sincerity. The young girfs 
face flushed deeply, and the smiling eyes that 
watched her were full of sympathy and admiration. 

You are a faithful little champion, Ruthie,’^ 
Mr. Rolfe said kindly, ^^and I think I would like 
to leave my cause in your hands when unable to 
defend it myself. I am not sure,^^ he continued 
with a laugh, as he received a telegraphic com- 
munication from Mrs. Rolfe’s eyes, I am not 
sure, but I shall send you now to plead my cause 
with the cook. Slie will surely give us a cold 
supper if we keep her waiting much longer. 
Come, my friends, after this ^ feast of reason and 
flow of soul,^ let us have the ^cup that cheers, but 
not inebriates.^ And giving his arm to Mrs. 
Scott, Mr. Rolfe led the way to the dining-room. 


188 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


It was a pure and* peaceful atmosphere that 
enveloped Solitude the next morning. If the 
evening before had awakened, in thoughtful hearts, 
tender memories of the night, so long ago, when 
the hopes and fears of all the years '^ met in 
star-lit Bethlehem, that morning, in its unclouded 
beauty, seemed full of glad reminders of the love 
that encompasses the seen and unseen worlds and 
makes them one.^^ 

It was Sunday, as well as Christmas, and so, 
though Christmas gifts were numerous and Christ- 
mas greetings warm and sincere, there was no 
noisy or careless merriment. The family at 
Solitude attended church in the morning, and in 
the afternoon John led his little ])upils to the 
library for the Bible reading that under his care- 
ful and intelligent teaching the boys voted the 
best of their lessons. 

‘^Mayn’t cousin Ruth come, too?^’ Will asked 
as they met the young girl in the hall. 

‘^If she wishes, John quietly answered. 

Ought I to wish it?^^ Ruth asked with a 
smile and deepened color. I am sure I would 
like to come, Mr. Millington, and yet, I do not 
want to if — if it would make any difference,’^ she 
said with some timidity. 

‘^It would make only a pleasant difference,” 
John said, with a smile. We study the Bible 
every Sunday at this hour, and in that study I do 


STJ^ANGEIiS, 


189 


not think there can be too many students, do 
yon?” 

Ruth did not say what she thouglit^ but she fol- 
lowed her little cousins to the library, and seated 
herself near them, at a window that looked out on 
the beautiful ice-bound bay, that glistened like 
crystal in the brilliant sunshine. Quietly, as if 
she had not been present, John taught the little 
boys. It was a Christmas lesson, and the old, old 
story, that is still forever new, was told as only 
one who believed and rejoiced in it could tell it. 
Ruth listened to it in silence, but when John dis- 
missed the boys, she suddenly spoke. 

Mr. Millington,’’ she said, and her voice was 
low and troubled, and her eyes, turned towards the 
window, seemed to be following the flight of a 
sea-bird that skimmed over the water, making of 
the very resistance it encountered in the air a help 
to speed it onward, Mr. Millington, do you think 
all Christians to-day feel as sure that God is their 
Father and Christ their Saviour as you seem to 
feel?” 

John looked at her thoughtfully. As she sat 
there, she was very unlike the little girl who years 
before had studied with him in the Ions: evenint^s 
in Aunt Phillis’ kitchen. She had lost forever 
that child’s face and form; had she lost that child’s 
faith as well? He did not know, but he would 
try to learn. 


190 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


It is their privilege to feel so/^ he answered 
quietly, ^^it is their birthright blessing/^ 

Then why/^ Ruth asked quickly, ^^^why are 
they not happier ? 

I said it was their privilege,’^ John said grave- 
ly, ^^but I did not say they all claimed it. Miss 
Selwyn/^ 

But that is just what I want to know,’^ Ruth 
said, and now she looked at him with a face that 
plainly revealed lier anxiety; why don’t they 
claim it, Mr. Millington, and — ” and her voice 
fell to a whisper as she questioned — ^Miow can 
they claim it? ” 

Suppose,” John said, much as he was wont 
to speak to her when she was a child, suppose a 
great gift had been promised you, and was waiting 
for you in the hands of the giver, would you not 
know how to claim it? Would you not, if you 
asked for it, feel sure that you would receive it?” 
^^Yes,” Ruth answered, a little sadly. 
know what you mean, Mr. Millington, but what 
one might ask without fear of an earthly friend, it 
seems hard to ask of God. lie is far away, so 
infinite and omnipotent; how can we go to him, 
as to a father, feeling sure of his sympathy and 
love? How can we help” — and the young voice 
trembled as it spoke — ^Giow can we help feeling 
afraid of him ?” 

^^^If you are afraid of God, fly to his arms,’” 
John softly quoted. 


STRANGERS, 


191 


We mi’glit, if we could only see him/^ Ruth 
answered, in a clicked voice. 

Slowly John turned the leaves of his little Tes- 
tament. This is Christmas day/^ he said, and 
with tender emphasis read the solemn words : 
^^^He that hath seen me hath seen the Father.^ 
Ruth knew those words well, and yet as slie 
listened to them now, it seemed as if she had 
never heard them before, so wonderfully did the 
precious truth, of which she was beginning to 
catch a glimpse, shine through and illuminate 
them. 

Jesus came to lead men back to the Father,’^ 
John said gently. He came to show God^s erring, 
fearful children what that God was like — full 
of the tenderest love, the deepest compassion, the 
strongest helpfulness, the most far-reaching justice 
— that could give fair play to all, and that, seeing 
all our limitations, all our hindrances, and all our 
failures, could look upon us 

‘‘ ‘ With larger, other eyes than ours, 

To make allowance for us all.^ 

Christ lived upon the earth, and went in and out 
among men. Miss Selwyn’^ — and John’s voice 
was tremulous with deep feeling now — ^Gt is you, 
not the Father, who are a long way off. It is 
you who must draw near to him, if you would 
know the preciousness of his love.” 


192 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Kuth turned a little and looked at John with 
eves that made him think of their first Bible- 
reading. 

I want to do so/’ she said simply. I hope I 
am a Christian, and I want” — and tlie stress 
upon the word told how great was the want — 
“ to be a happy Christian, but you don’t know, 
Mr. Millington, how hard, how very hard that 
drawing near is.” 

Don’t I?” John said, with a quick breath of 
sympathy. ^^Do you think you are the only one, 
Miss Selwyn, who has had first to endure tl]e 
conflict before the victory could be won ?” 

Ruth did not answer, and in a moment John 
said gently, There is a beautiful old Jewish 
proverb, Miss Selwyn : ‘ If you would be fragrant, 
keep near to the seller of perfumes.’” 

Ruth’s eyes brightened. That is beautiful,” 
she said, with quick appreciation of the lovely 
thought, ^^but still” — and the expressive face 
clouded again — still the old, hard question 
presses for an answer — how can we keep near ? ” 

I might tell you, by prayer,” John answered, 
with grave kindness, ^M)ut I know you pray. 
Suppose, instead, I say by taking the Christ, for 
whom there was no room in the inn, into vour 
heart, and letting him abide there. I have some- 
where read ^ that ships that carry spices and aro- 
matics become so saturated with the j:)erfumes, 


STEANGJEBS, 


193 


that tlieir very decks and timbers are fragrant/ 
And I have seen, and I know^’ — and the young 
inan\s voice was strong as the truth he was utter- 
ing — know that when Christ dwells within a 
liuman soul, ^all heaven’s own sweetness is about 
it thrown/ ” 

It’s growing dark,” announced Jack, as at 
that moment he ran into the library, ^^and, Mr. 
Millington and cousin Ruth, mamma says, wont 
you come to the parlor? Aunt Wilma wants us ' 
to sing.” 

Yes, I’ll come in a moment,” Ruth answered, ^ 
and as the little boy ran off, she turned again to 
. John. 

Mr. Millington,” she said, in the frank and 
yet timid maimer that had marked her childhood, 

I wish — ” 

But the wish — which would have been an im- 
pulsive request that he would drop the dignified 
Miss Selwyn, that seemed to her like a fence built 
up between them — was never known ; for before 
she could utter it, the door was opened and Miss 
Talbot appeared. 

Ruthie, you truant,” she said, with a playful 
shake of her finger, I have been looking for 
you up-stairs, and down-stairs, and in the lady’s 
chamber, and as for poor Mr. Thorn, in spite of 
all my heroic efforts to be briglit, I believe he 
thinks the sun is in an eclipse. Do come and try 
17 


N 


194 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


to cheer him with a little of your sweetness and 
light/^ And drawing Ruth^s arm through her 
own, the breezy young lady led her away. 

Forgetful that he had been summoned to the 
parlor, John looked after the young girls until 
the door closed upon them, and then, with a very 
grave face, and a subdued manner that seemed to 
say that he, too, felt the need of sunshine, he re- 
opened his little Bible. 


CHAPTEE XL 


SUGGESTIONS. 

Bits of gladness and of sorrow, 

Strangely crossed and interlaid; 

Noons of musing, nights of dreaming, 

Words of love, and ways of strife; 

Tears of parting, smiles of meeting, 

Bits of smooth and rugged life — 

These are the stones with which, O man. 

Thou buildest, oft without a plan.” — Bonar, 

^^nV/TR. MILLINGTON, Mr. Millington,’^ 
-LYJ., called Jack, when half an hour later 
he again thrust his curly head in at the library 
door, ^Gvont you come? We are all waiting in 
the parlor, and we want you so much.” 

^^Are you sure your pronoun ought not to 
be I?” John asked, with a little tinge of sadness 
in his tone. But Jack had already run off, and 
very slowly John followed him. 

^^This is just the hour for music,” Mrs. Rolfe 
said, as he entered the parlor. Come, Mr. 
Millington, I know you sing ; I have heard you 
often with the boys, and I think Mr. Thorn 
does,” and she looked inquiringly at that young 
man, who was standing beside Ruth and looking 
through a photograph album with her. 

( 195 ) 


196 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


0 ye — s, a little/^ he answered indifferently, as 
if it was hardly worth while for him to even at- 
tempt to do anything very well. 

^^Well, every little is said to help, and so, per- 
liaps, even your little will be of some assistance,^^ 
Mrs. Rolfe said, with not quite her usual gentle- 
ness. 

Julia’’ — and she turned to Miss jfalbot — 
^^do you sing much or little?” 

O, I try to do all things in moderation,” 
Miss Talbot answered, with her usual laugh. 

^^Very good. Ruthie, I can speak with cer- 
tainty now — I am sure you sing.”| 

1 am afraid if you were in the witness-box it 
would not be safe for you to be so sure, cousin 

‘ Emma,” Ruth said playfully, as she changed her 
seat for one near Mrs. Scott. ^^My only merit in 
music is that I am a good listener.” 

^^To love it well enough to listen to it is a 
greater merit than most people possess, if we may 
judge from the loud conversations and rude 
laughter we are forced to hear often' at musicales 
and concerts,” Mr. Scott said gravely. 

^^To be a good listener to anything is a rare 
merit, I think,” Mrs. Scott said, in her gentle 
voice. It involves a good deal of the charity — 
perhaps we might call it humility — that seeketh 
not its own. There is a line of Keble’s I often 
think of, Ruthie. I wonder if you know it ; 


mOGESTIONS. 


197 




‘ Give us grace to listen well/ 

^ Grace to listen well/ I suppose we rarely 
or never think to pray for that gift, and yet for 
want of that grace how much we often lose. 
But/^ and Mrs. Scott’s serious tone changed to 
one that was almost playful, I do not mean that 
you shall cultivate that grace by listening to my 
moralizing now. I am very anxious to hear Mr. 
Millington sing, for Jack has told me in confi- 
dence that he would ^ most rather hear him than 
sing himself.’ ” 

There was a little laugh at this, and Mr. Rolfe, 
as he stroked his little boy’s head, said : ^^Con- 
sidering how fond Jack is of the sound of his 
own voice, that is certainly a great compliment, 
Mr. Millington.” 

‘^And one I fully appreciate,” John answered, 
with a smile ; but, before I appreciate it, I think 
you must listen to Jack.” And calling both of 
the little boys to the piano, John played a simple 
accom])animent, and led them in an easy Christ- 
mas song. 

T did not know you played, Mr. Millingtori,’^ 
Ruth said, in surprise, as the singing ceased and 
John turned from the j)iano. 

Nor do I,” he answered quietly. ^^In play- 
ing accompaniments I depend greatly upon my 
ear. AVdiile at college I devoted what time I 
could to studying the principles of music, but I 

17 -* 


198 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


am no performer; I could never spare time for 
practice/^ 

Is it any satisfaction to understand the bar- 
monies of music, if you cannot give them utter- 
ance?^^ Ruth asked doubtfully. 

I think it is/^ he said, in a thoughtful voice. 

The pleasure one derives from even a little knowl- 
edge of music is very sweet and pure, and then it 
is certainly true of music, as of all other knowl- 
edge, that the more you know, the more influence 
you possess,^^ 

Would you make the acquisition of influence 
a motive for study Mr. Rolfe inquired seri- 
ously. 

John’s smile was sweet as his words were 
earnest, as he answered ; Do you think a Chris- 
tian can have too many arrows in Ids quiver, Mr. 
Rolfe? Do you think he can ever possess too 
much influence in this worldy that he must strug- 
gle to regain for Christ ? ” 

^^No,” Mr. Rolfe answered, ‘^of course I do 
not, Mr. Millington. But — still — to tell a young 
student, ^the more you know, the more influence 
you will have’ — although undeniably the truth — 
does seem to me a very selfish motive to set be- 
fore him, and a dangerous one, when, look where we 
will to-day, we cannot miss seeing great power and 
influence selfishly used by their possessors for the 
accomplishment of their own ambitious purposes.” 


SUGGESTION'S. 


199 


You do not see consecrated influence so used/' 
John said quietly. 

^‘Consecrated is a word whose meaning the 
world has yet to learn/' Mr. Scott gravely re- 
marked. 

“ It will learn it, though, some day, from the 
lives that illustrate it," Mrs. Scott said, with a 
bright light in her face as she looked at John. 

The young man's face was as bright as hers as 
he answered : “ Some day I believe those dark 
places will all be illuminated, and it is for that 
reason that I would have a Christian many-sided, 
with all his powers symmetrically developed. 
Music, languages, literature, and art, knowing — 
as we do — what a power they are in the world, I 
would not have the world possess them alone. I 
would have the Christian know and understand 
them all, as far as possible, and then, upon all the 
power and influence thus gained, I would have 
him write the words the prophet of old saw en- 
graven on the bells of Jerusalem — ‘ Holiness unto 
- the Lord.' " 

“ Go on," Mr. Rolfe said earnestly ; “ such con- 
secration of purpose and of power does indeed 
give dignity to human life. Go on, Mr. Milling- 
ton ; inspire my boys with such motives and I 
shall be satisfied." 

“All this time we are losing the pleasure of 
hearing Mr. Millington sing," Miss Talbot said 


200 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


soon ; breaking, as she spoke, the silence that had 
fallen on the little company. 

^^That is a pleasure I do not want to lose,’^ 
Mrs. Scott said gently. 

With the true courtesy — unfortunately seldom 
met with in singers — that is ready, without coax- 
ing and urging, to do what it can for the pleasure 
of others, John turned again to the piano. 
The light of the beautiful Christmas day was 
waning now, and as the shadows darkened in the 
quiet room, the sense of loneliness that all day 
had saddened Joh.n^s soul grew deeper, and the 
sad, yet trustful hymn of Bonar seemed to give 
at once expression to his need, and with expres- 
sion, peace, and full content. The hymn was one 
he loved, and to a slow, sweet, minor air he sang : 

Amid the shadows and the fears 
That overcloud this home of tears, 

Amid my poverty and sin, 

The tempest and the war within, 

Weary, I cast my soul on thee, 

Mighty to save even me, 

Jesus, thou Sou of God. 

“On thee I rest; thy love and grace 
Are my sole rock and resting-])lace. 

In thee, my thirst and hunger sore. 

Lord, let me quench for evermore, 

AVeary, I cast my soul on thee. 

Mighty to save even me, 

Jesus, thou Son of God.^’ 

Go on, please,’^ Mrs. Scott urged, as the sing- 
ing ceased. 


SUGGESTIONS, 


201 


John^s thoughts had passed to tlie' great 
Father-love that provided the shelter ; and now, 
in the still twilight, hushing the secret unrest of 
every heart, came Faber^s hymn to the Father: 


“All fathers learn their craft from thee, 

All loves are shadows cast 
From the beautiful, eternal hills, 

Of thine unbeginning past. 

“ There^s not a craving in the mind 
Thou dost not meet and still ; 

There’s not a wish the heart can have 
, 'Which thou dost not fulfil. 

“O little heart of mine, shall pain 
Or sorrow make thee moan, 

'When all this God is all for thee, 

A Father all thine own ? ” 

\ 

The sweet notes filled the room and slowly died 
away, and a little hubbub succeeded, occasioned 
by a servant bringing in lights and tea; but 
through it all Mrs. Scott rested on the sofa with 
her eyes shaded : 

Give this to Mrs. Scott,’^ Mrs. Rolfe said to 
John, when he went to assist her in serving the 
tea and simple refreshments, that on Sabbath 
evenings were always taken informally in the par- 
lor, and taking the cup the young man went to 
the sofa. 

Mrs. Scott,^^ he said gently. 

The hand that veiled her eyes was removed and 


202 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


Mrs. Scott looked up with a smile that, though 
sad, was very sweet. 

Thank yoii,^^ she said, as she accepted tlie cup 
of tea. I am glad you brought it, Mr. Milling- 
ton. They are all served, I think — and she 
glanced about the room, “ Now, will you bring a 
cup for yourself, and sit here?^^ And she mo- 
tioned to a chair beside her sofa. 

Very willingly John obeyed. He could not 
explain Mrs. Scott’s influence over him ; he had 
known her but twenty-four hours, and they had 
conversed very little, but he felt as sure of her 
sympathy as if he had known her twenty-four 
years. Words between them seemed very un- 
necessary; he did not care to talk, he was content 
to sit in silence beside her, and he started as if 
from a dream when she gently said : 

I must thank you for a very great pleasure, 
Mr. Millington, and far more than a pleasure. 
Your singing gave me comfort as well as enjoy- 
ment. And yet,” she added, in a half-inquiring 
tone, those two hymns, though so beautiful, are 
not ones the young and hap])y would naturally 
select.” 

John understood the question she would not 
directly ask. 

I am young,” he answered, in a low voice, 
^^and I have much to make me happy, and yet 
the thoughts suggested by those hymns have often 


SUGGES7I0SS. 


203 


quieted me, wlien it has seemed as if my wliole 
soul was stirred and rebelling against my lot/^ 

Mrs. Scott looked at him with wistful eves. 

You have parents, I believe, Mr. Millington ? 
she said interrogatively. 

John hesitated. Since he left Hermitsville for 
Hancock, nine years before, he had never alluded 
to his history. To do so would have been painful, 
and nothing had occurred to call for such allusion. 
He supposed — though in that supposition he was 
mistaken — that Mr. Crosby had informed Professor 
Selwyn of the mystery that enshrouded him, but 
by neither word nor act, through all these years, 
had any one reminded him of it, and in accordance 
with their earnest wish he still continued to call 
Mr. and Mrs. Millington father and mother, and 
in every way possible he was loyal to them as a 
son. But still he was not their son ; no water of 
Lethe could make him forget that sorrowful fact; 
and now, though it pained him to do so, he felt 
that if he would be true he could give Mrs. Scott 
but one answer. 

She was looking at him and waiting with 
evident interest for his words, and meaning, if she 
cared to hear it, to confide his whole story to her, 
he said, I have^’ — dear friends who fill the place 
of parents — he would have added, but Mr. Scott 
suddenly interrupted him. 

I beg your pardon,’’ he said, but in this house- 


204 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


hold, I believe, no one takes note of time but by its 
loss. The clocks are all out of order. Jack informs 
me. Mr. Rolfe’s v/atch has run down, and mine, 
corrupted probably by an evil example, lias done 
likewise; and so, my dear, I must appeal to you 
in this case — as in so many others — to set me 
riglit, and give me, if you can, the correct tirae.’^ 

Smilingly Mrs. Scott gave the desired informa- 
tion ; her husband lingered a few moments, chat- 
ting pleasantly about indifferent matters, and then 
left the room ; but though Mrs. Scott resumed her 
conversation with John she seemed to feel no 
further interest in his family. He wondered a 
little at first how she had understood his words, 
and resolved to complete his sentence as soon as 
possible; but he found no chance to do so that 
night. The opportunity — which was perhaps one 
of God\s occasions — had drifted by, and long 
months passed before it was referred to again. 

^^It always gives me pleasure to see children 
happy, Mrs. Scott said, as her husband in leaving 
the room stopped to throw a handful of bonbons 
at Jack and AVill, and was repaid by their glad 
shouts as they caught them, and I believe in 
making Cliristmas the hajipiest day in the year 
for them. Have you any scruples about observing 
the twenty-fifth of December as the birthday of 
our Lord, Mr. Millington? 

No/^ he answered. One day in the year I 


SUGGESTIONS. 


205 


think we ought most certainly to observe as the 
anniversary of that glad event, and it makes very \ 
little difference whether w^e have or have not the 
exact date. Though/^ he added with a smile, it 
is a peculiar pleasure to me to believe this day the 
right one, for it is my own birtliday.^^ 

Your birthday, is it?^^ Mrs. Scott exclaimed, 
in a voice touched with some deeper feeling than 
mere surprise. You cannot have seen a quarter 
of a century yet, Mr. Millington,’^ and she smiled, 
though her tone was tremulous; may I ask how 
old you are ? ” 

am old enough to have learned and done a 
great deal more than I have, Mrs. Scott,” he 
answered frankly. I am twenty-two.”^ 

An expression of great pain flitted across Mrs. 
Scott’s face ; she was silent awhile ; and then she 
said : 

‘^This Christmas time, even while I rejoice to 
see others happy, is the saddest season of the year 
for me,'Mr. Millington. Twenty-two years ago a 
great joy came to me at Christmas, but it was so 
soon followed by a great sorrow, that even the 
memory of the joy is now painful. Have you 
ever lost any one dear to you by death, Mr. Mill- 
ington ? ” 

No,” he softly answered. 

I hope you may long be able to say that,” she 
said, in a voice that unshed tears made pathetic, 

18 


206 ' 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


^^but when that grief falls upon you, Mr. Milling- 
ton, remember that death is not the heaviest loss 
the heart can feel, nor tears shed over a grave the 
bitterest tears that fall from human eyes. If I could 
only know that my — ’’ She stopped abruptly. 
Voice and hands were alike trembling violently, 
and John gently took the cup she was still hold- 
ing from her, and carried it to the little table at 
which Mrs. Rolfe was still presiding. 

She detained him a few moments with offers of 
sandwiclies and cake, and when he returned to his 
seat, he found that Ruth and Miss Talbot and Mr. 
Thorn had all yielded to the magnetism Mrs. 
Scott seemed unconsciously to exert, and drawn 
their chairs up very near her sofa. 

We felt obliged to come in self-defence,^^ Ruth 
said, at once shyly and playfully. ^^We don’t 
aj)prove of monopolies where we are left out and 
derive no benefit, and we have all felt envious of 
the interesting: conversation we could see that Mrs. 
Scott and you were enjoying, Mr. Millington.” 
Then I hope you have brought good materials 
for continuing it with you,” he said easily, as he 
sat down beside her. 

^^No, we liave brought nothing but good desires',” 
M iss Talbot said, with the little laugh that 
belonged to her as much as its chirp belongs to 
the cricket. 

“ And our desire at present,” Mr. Thorn smil- 


SUGGESTIONS, 


207 


ingly explained, is to be amused, Mr. Milling- 
ton ; so please do the best you can for us.^^ 

John smiled a little. You make me think of 
the Philistines who demanded sport of poor blind 
Samson,’^ he quietly answered. 

Mr. Thorn regarded him with rather doubtful 
eyes. 

I am not quite sure how far your philosophy 
reaches, Millington,^^ he said, but you referred 
just now to that old Bible-story of Samson, and I 
am curious to know if you, a student in this en- 
lightened nineteenth century, can believe such 
stuff.’^ 

‘‘ Stuff,^^ John repeated, in a voice that made his 
hearers look at him in surprise. The word seemed 
to have escaped him involuntarily. He was silent 
a second, and then, in his usual quiet tone, he 
said, I believe my Bible, Mr. Thorn.’^ 

^^Do you?^’ Mr. Thorn asked, in a peculiar 
tone. You don’t think it a collection of ancient 
myths and allegories then, that wise men have 
tried to read spiritual meanings into?” 

I think it the word of God.” 

Mr. Thorn moved uneasily in his chair, and 
curled and uncurled the piece of paper he was 
holding in his hands several times, before he 
again looked up and said in a doubtful tone : 

You mean me to understand, then, that you 
believe all those strange and remarkable stories, 


208 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


related In the Bible, could have actually occurred, 
do you ? 

Why could they have not?’^ John quietly 
questioned in his turn. Given a Creator, pos- 
sessed of infinite power and wisdom, would he not 
be able to do what he pleased with his own crea- 
tions ? 

^^Oh — ah — ye — es,^’ Mr. Thorn reluctantly 
admitted, ^M)ut you know, Millington, the phi- 
losophers tell us the universe is under the control ' 
of fixed laws.^^ 

Fixed and unchangeable, so far as the phi- 
losophers are concerned, I grant,’’ John gravely 
answered. But I believe we will both acknowl- 
edge that all laws are subject to the will of their 
makers, and can be changed or repealed at their 
pleasure.” 

Mr. Thorn considered a moment. ^^Then,” he 
slowly asked, you believe that God rules this 
world according to his own will and pleasure, do 
yon?” 

He doeth according to his will among the 
armies of heaven and the inhabitants of earth,” 
John reverently quoted. 

Why, then, if that is true, is evil in the 
world?” Mr. Thorn demanded quickly, with the 
air of one who felt sure he had thrown the stone 
that would crush the giant. 

What is it Dr. Holland says?” interposed 


SUGGESTIONS, 


209 


Miss Talbot now. Isn^t it that ^ evil is only the 
slave of good ? ’ 

Mr. Thorn made an impatient gesture. ^^He is 
a slave, then, who usurps his master’s place pretty 
often,” he said scornfully. 

A sorrowful expression shadowed Mrs. Scott’s 
sweet face. Some day — when you are a Christian, 

Mr. Thorn” — she said gently, you will under- 
stand how painful it is for God’s children to 
hear their Father’s goodness called in ques- 
tion.” 

The young man’s scornful and almost defiant 
look softened. I wish that some day might 
sometime come,” he said, as he turned almost 
reverently to Mrs. Scott. But I confess,” he 
soberly continued, ‘Ghat I find it hard to believe 
in a goodness that suffers evil to rage like an un- 
chained beast in the world, or that leaves so many 
Imman beings to begin, and live, and end their 
lives in darkness. It’s very useless to tell me 
it is a mystery. I know that only too well 
already. But I want light on the mystery before 
I can believe in a goodness that would permit 
it.” 

“Evil is in the world, but so is God/^ John 
said, in a voice that was at once emphatic and 
tender. 

“Is that your creed?” Mr. Thorn asked, with 
a tinge of contempt in his tone. “ Well, I endorse 

18 -* 


o 


210 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


the first part. I am not as sure as you appear to 
be about the last.’^ 

John suddenly turned and looked at liis flip])ant 
questioner. There was a fire in his eyes now, and 
indignation and pity seemed struggling for the 
mastery in his voice as he asked : 

^^Do you know why you are not sure, Mr. 
Thorn ? Do you know why you, and thousands 
of young men like you, can bear to sit to-day in 
luxurious seats and coolly question the goodness, 
the power, the very existence of the long-suffering 
and most patient God, who created you, and gave 
you the intellect you only use for his dishonor? 
Do you know why? Then, if you do, pray tell 
me.^^ 

There was something in John’s words and tone 
that impressed Mr. Thorn and made him very 
uncomfortable, but he would not own, willingly, 
that he was touched, and with a laugh, that he 
meant should seem light and unconcerned, he 
answered : 

Why, really, Millington, you come down on 
a man like an iron-clad man-of-war on a poor 
sailing craft. When you are a judge, I would 
not like to stand at your bar to be sentenced.’’ 
John had a word to say, and he was not to be 
turned from his purpose. 

You have not answered,” he said. Tell me, 
do you know why ? ” 


SUGGESTIONS, 


211 


Oh, well/^ Mr. Thorn answered carelessly, if 
Daniel has really come to judgment, I suppose I 
must speak, and I will tell you, frankly, it is so, I 
suppose, because we can see no good reason why it 
should be otherwise.^^ 

^^And you, a thinking man in God’s world, can 
tell me that ? ” John said in a low, almost stern 
voice. 

I cannot tell you more than I know myself,” 
Mr. Thorn returned, with some anger. If, with 
your superior knowledge of human nature, you 
can tell me a better reason, why, I would like to 
hear it.” 

^^And for once, at least, in your life, you shall 
hear it,” John said in an earnest, but touched and 
almost tender voice. It is because you have 
never given one hour’s serious thought to the 
great purpose for which your life was given you. 
It is because you have never wished to know more 
of God that you know nothing of him to-day. 
It is because you have never taken your place on 
God’s side in this world, and have thrown all the 
strength of your manhood into fighting with him, 
and for him, against the evil it pleases you to 
magnify, that you can doubt to-night the good- 
ness of your Maker. Mr. Thorn,” and forgetful 
of other hearers, like one pleading with a brother 
John seemed to be pleading now, Mr. Thorn, 
those who are willing to obev God, and do the 


212 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


work he gives, never doubt his existence or his 
goodness/^ 

Mr. Thorn was touched, but his proud will 
was not yet ready to yield. I wonder,^^ he 
said for the sake of argument, wonder how 
many others in this room have faith as strong as 
yours.’^ 

I have,^’ Mrs. Scott said solemnly. I have 
tested the promises of my Bible in many a trying 
hour, Mr. Thorn, and I have found them always 
a precious pillow on which to rest an aching 
heart.^^ 

Mr. Thorn looked at her with something like 
reverence in his eyes, but he only said : Excuse 

me, Mrs. Scott, but you are a woman ; it is natural 
for women to believe. An unbelieving woman,^^ 
and he turned to John, always seems to me 
like a monstrosity in nature, a terrible mis- 
take.’^ 

^^And yet you despise their faith,’’ John said. 

No; yoiTmisunderstand me. I do not despise ; 
I simply cannot accept it; my reason rebels 
against it.” 

Suppose, for reason, you say will,” Mrs. Scott 
softly suggested ; would you not be nearer the 
truth ? ” 

The young man hesitated. Well,” he said, in 
a moment, suppose I grant that, what is gained, 
Mrs. Scott?” 


SUGGESTIONS. 


213 


she gently answered. ^^Take now 
the next step, and yield that will in loyal submis- 
sion to its King.’^ 

I cannot, he said, a little fiercely. 

^^Ah,’’ Mrs. Scott said mournfully. God does 
not shut the door of heaven upon us ; it is we who 
shut it, and standing without refuse to enter in.^^ 
wish — It was Ruth who spoke, in the 
impulsive and earnest way peculiar to her. 

What, Miss Selwyn?’^ John asked gently. 

She flushed a little, but her answer was frank, 
though her voice was tremulous — That it was 
possible for us, while still in this world, to enter 
far enough inside that door to be really happy and 
satisfied.^’ 

^^That is just what I think,’^ Miss Talbot said 
now. We are none of us happy and satisfied, 
and it seems useless to preach to others, and tell 
them to believe, when, all the while, we know" — 
and they know, too — that though our faith may 
be strong enough to save us wlien we die, it is 
not strong enough to make us joyful while we 
live.’^ 

I believe you are right. Miss Talbot,^^ Mr. 
Thorn said, in a sober voice. This is Christmas 
night. Now^, if you asked me to tell you, in some 
familiar Bible-word, what seems to me to be the 
attitude of Christians, in this world that they 
profess to believe that Christ died to save, I 


214 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


sliould answer you, not in the language of his 
disciples, but in the words of those unknown Gen- 
tiles, who were only seekers, you remember — ^ We 
would see Jesus/ It may be well to seek, but 
Christians, it seems to me, if their faith is true, 
ought to be sure that they have found. But tliey 
are not sure.^^ 

A tiny sigh escaped from Ruth. John heard 
it, and as he watched the young girl’s thoughtful 
face, he said : 

You wrong the great multitude of believing 
hearts who to-night are singing, ^ I know that my 
Redeemer liveth,’ by your sweeping assertion, 
Mr. Thorn, If, here and there, Christians are 
walking in darkness, the fault is not in the hand 
that guides them, but in the feeble hold that they 
have taken of it. And to all doubtful hearts, I 
think, this one word should be said : ‘ Go, work 
for the Master, and you shall soon enter into his 

joy/ '' 

There was a solemn pause, and when, in a few 
moments, Mr. Thorn spoke again, his tone was 
changed. Suppose,” he said gravely, suppose 
I am willing to work, what is my work?” 

^^This,” John answered, in a low, glad voice: 

‘ To rise in strength, and cast the evil out 
That slays the Christ-like in the human soul : 

This is the work/ 

The door opened just then, and Mr. Scott came 


SUGGESTIONS, 


215 


in and approached the sofa. The little circle 
parted, but for one instant, as he was passing, 
Mr. Thorn paused by John. - 

You have given me something to think of,’^ 
he said, in a low voice. 


CHAPTER XII. 


QUESTIONS. 


God holds the key to all unknown, 
And I am glad. 

If other hands should hold the key, 
Or if he trusted it to me, 

It might be sad. 

“ The very dimness of my sight 
Makes me secure ; 

For groping in my misty way, 

I feel his hand — I hear him say, 

My help is sure.’’ — Anonymous, 


OLID AY WEEK went by with the swift- 


ness with which pleasant times have an 
unfortunate trick of moving. The days were full 
of sunshine, of crisp winds that only invigorated, 
and of cold weather that stimulated to action and. 
made walks and out-door exercises a positive 
delight. 

Mr. and Mrs. Rolfe were constantly proposing 
plans for the amusement of their guests, and Jolin 
found himself called upon frequently to -play an 
active part in their entertainment. Naturally of 
a social and genial temperament, he enjoyed fully 
the pleasures offered him now, and yet, some- 



( 216 ) 


QUESTIONS. 


217 


times, he was conscious of glancing back wistfully 
to the old days when, in Aunt Phillis’ kitchen, 
Ruth and he had been boy and girl together, and 
she had brought all her little confidences to him, 
and listened — with a faith that never doubted his 
ability to remove mountains — to all his boyish 
dreams for the future. 

All that was changed now. He was Mr. Mill- 
ington and she was Miss Selwyn : and there were 
others around her eager for her confidence, and 
others, perhaps, of whom she now dreamed and 
hoped great things for the coming days. The 
thought saddened him. That in this world he 
would never come out of the shadow that sur- 
rounded him, and ever find the family and rela- 
tions whose name belonged to him he no longer 
dared to hope. And knowing well the spirit of 
the world, he knew that long years must pass be- 
fore, by his own unaided efforts, he could win for 
himself the recognition that inherited honors so 
quickly command. 

What then? Should he shut himself out from 
])leasant companionships, and, in sullen rebellion 
against the will of his Maker, refuse to take the 
good he offered him, because it was not altogether 
pure, but, like gold that is serviceable, mixed with 
alloy? No. Tenacious of purpose” should still 
be his motto. He would stand in his lot. He 
would do his work truly and nobly as he could. 

19 


218 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


He would at least be worthy of happiness, and If 
it passed him by, he could wait; as those wait 
who know that time is short and eternity long, 
and believe that, behind all shadows, God is 
watching over and working for his own. 

And so with pleasant, unclouded face he saw 
Ruth monopolized frequently by Mr. Thorn and 
Miss Talbot, and noticed the admiration and atten- 
tion given her, and the innocent, girlish pleasure 
with which she received it. It was all right, he 
thought. Ruth was worthy of the best. Did 
she, or any woman, gain the best? Was the 
heart that owned no dependence upon God a safe 
heart for others to depend upon in time of sorrow 
and of trial? John sighed a little, as in one of 
his quiet hours these questions pressed for an 
answer. 

Thus the days, with their pleasures and lessons, 
went by, until Saturday night came again, and 
with Saturday another friend to enjoy Mrs. Rolfe’s 
hospitality. 

^^Miss Winthrop, the dearest friend of my 
school-days,^^ Mrs. Scott said, when she introduced 
the new-comer to John, and John looked up to 
meet the scrutiny of a pair of eyes that were very 
free from color blindness, and that had the rare 
power of seeing things and persons as they were, 
and yet of looking upon them with charity and 
kindness. 


Q UESTIONS, 


219 


their owner said suddenly, in the 
course of that evening, while they were all as- 
sembled in the library, waiting, as Miss Talbot 
laughingly said, ^^to see the old year and the 
new year shake hands,’’ Wilma, of whom does 
Mr. Millington remind you?” 

A look, as if the question troublecj her, crossed 
Mrs. Scott’s face, but she answered pleasantly, 
though evasively : Now that I know him, I do 

not think he could ever remind me of any one but 
himself, Annie.” 

^^Is he so unlike ordinary humanity?” Miss 
Winthrop asked. Well, he may be possessed 
of great individuality, but you are certainly very 
dim-sighted, Wilma, if you cannot see the resem- 
blance I mean.” 

What resemblance ? ” Mr. Scott asked, as he 
caught Miss Winthrop ’s last words. 

Why, the resemblance between yourself and 
Mr. Millington,” Miss Winthrop answered, with 
great earnestness. If you could go back and 
stand as a young man beside Mr. Millington, I 
am sure you would be taken for brothers.” 

I have noticed that resemblance,” exclaimed 
Mr. Thorn. 

Why, yes, and so have I,” chimed in Miss 
Talbot and Ruth. 

Mr. and Mrs. Rolfe remained silent, but Mr. 
Scott said very quietly : 


220 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


That would be a relationship in which any 
one might be proud to stand to Mr. Millington.^^ 
And then, as his eyes Jurned to his wife^s face 
and he noticed her sudden paleness, he hastened 
to say : 

Nature plays strange freaks sometimes in this 
very matter of resemblance. Miss Winthrop, and 
I have often amused myself with wondering what 
it means, when two strangers — as far removed 
from each other as it is possible for Adam’s de- 
scendants to be — show unmistakable signs of 
resemblance, in color, features and expression. 
Come, Miss Winthrop, you are a wise woman ; 
what does it mean ?” 

I am glad I am a wise woman,” Miss Win- 
throp answered smilingly, ^‘for the wise are always 
humble enough to acknowledge ignorance, and 
you must not ask me to decipher hieroglyphics 
for you, unless you first give me the key.” 

^‘You believe there is a key, then?” Kuth 
asked, with interest. 

Miss Winthrop smiled as she turned towards 
her. Perhaps,” she said lightly; but it is a 
Rosetta stone, that I fear neither you nor I will 
ever find, dear child.” 

It would be interesting, though, in this par- 
ticular instance, to try to find it,” Miss Talbot 
exclaimed. ^^Mr. Millington,” and she turned 
to John, have you such a thing as a family tree? 


QUESTIONS, 


221 


If SO, I wish you would bring it, and let us see what 
remote ancestor you and Mr. Scott had in common.^^ 
John smiled, though the subject for him was 
a sore one. Perhaps Japheth would answer as 
well as any one. Miss Talbot, he said quietly. 

Japlieth,^’ Miss Talbot repeated ; why, who 
was he ? 

I am afraid you don’t know your Bible very 
well, Miss Talbot/’ Mr. Thorn said playfully. 

Don’t you remember Japheth, the son of Noah, 
who settled the islands of the sea ? I suppose we 
all have a common ancestry from him, unless, in- 
deed, Mr. Millington means that other Japheth, 
who went in search of a father. Do you ? ” and he 
turned with a laugh to John. 

The thrust was accidental, but John winced 
under it. No,” he said briefly ; I had forgot- 
ten him.” 

^^Such is fame,” Mr. Bolfe said quickly, as if 
glad to change the subject. ^‘Miss Winthrop, 
what is the use of you authors making books, 
when your only reward will be to be forgotten?” 

The use is not always apparent, I must con- 
fess,” Miss Winthrop calmly replied. Gold 
diggers, whether they toil with their brains or 
hands, too often fail in their endeavors.” 

^^Does Miss Winthrop write books?” Ruth 
asked in a low tone of Mr. Thorn, who stood near 
her. 


222 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


He nodded. Aren’t you afraid of her?” he 
whispered mischievously. ^^She will put you 
under her mental microscope, and analyze your 
nature minutely, only to portray it in her next 
book, as a good bit of character-drawing.” 

Ruth shrank a little at the mere suggestion of 
such an act. would not like to come too close 
to any one who would do that,” she said, with 
some nervousness. 

Mr. Thorn laughed. Miss Winthrop,” he 
said teasingly, ^^Miss Selwyn is afraid you will 
put her in your next book. Is there any danger 
of such a sad calamity befalling her?” 

Miss Winthrop smiled as her kind eyes sought 
Ruth’s crimson face and studied it a few moments. 
There is no immediate danger,” she said lightly. 
I will wait a few years and see what Miss Sel- 
wyn makes of her possibilities.” 

You are quite safe for the present then. Miss 
Selwyn,” Mr. Thorn said reassuringly to Ruth. 
^^But now. Miss Winthrop, I would really like to 
be immortalized, and since I despair of ever 
achieving immortality for myself, won’t you have 
compassion on me and give me a place in your 
book ? ” 

You ? ” Miss Winthrop asked meaningly, as 
she turned from Ruth to the young man. ‘^No; 
excuse me, I don’t think I will.” 

Ah, you have given me now the unkindost 


QUESTIONS. 


223 


cut of all/^ Mr. Thorn laughingly persisted. 
Why will you be so cruel, Miss Winthrop?^^ 

Must you know the reason ? she said pleas- 
antly, but with evident meaning. Well, then, 
understand that you are altogether too common- 
place. The world has enough commonplace 
characters in it ; it is not necessary to perpetuate 
them in books.^^ 

There, Miss Winthrop,^^ Mr. Scott said, in a 
kind but serious tone ; if I had been called upon 
to criticise your writings, your lack of common- 
place characters is the very defect I would have 
pointed out. Because the world is full of common- 
place people seems to me the very reason why you 
should describe them. As it is, you make your 
heroines all angels — minus the wings — and your 
heroes stand on a plane so far above the level of 
ordinary humanity, that we look up to them in 
blank despair. You hold up too high a standard, 
my friend.^^ 

Do I ? Miss Winthrop said, with composure. 
It does one good, sometimes, to be forced to look 
above the ground and behold the stars, Mr. Scott.^^ 
lady^s word must not be disputed,’^ he 
answered playfully. 

You mean — in this case — that it cannot be,’^ 
she retorted. Now — she continued seriously — 
please listen to me, and let me plead my own 
defence. My aim has never been simply to 


224 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


describe the people we see every day. Character- 
drawing is a rare gift, but to make it a useful one 
you need, when you have drawn your character, 
to place it — as an art-student does his picture — 
beside a higher one and let the contrast teach its 
lesson. While I enjoy the good — so called — 
society novels, I have never felt anxious to write 
them. I have wanted, with the little gift for 
writing that I possess, to do good.’ 

If M iss Winthrop’s defence did not acquit her, it 
at least silenced her critic : but now Mr. Thorn, 
who was still smarting from her words, said 
scorn fully : 

With such ideals as Miss Winthrop has, I 
wonder that she ever condescends to mingle and 
associate with poor, ordinary, human beings like 
ourselves.” 

^^Ah,” and Miss Winthrop turned quickly to 
the young man. Did I say that I despised com- 
monplace people? Mr. Thorn, that is the way 
you have chosen to interj)ret my words, but it is 
not the truth. I have no contempt. I have in- 
stead a sense of oneness with and likeness to them, 
that makes me ever conscious that when judging 
them I am condemning myself: and I never hold 
up an ideal without seeing, with painful distinct- 
ness, how far, how very far, I am from having 
attained it myself.” 

Miss Winthrop’s tone was touched with sadness. 


QUESTIONS. 


225 


and Mrs. Eolfe said : I do not think any one 

can justly accuse you of feeling superior to others, 
or of judging them uncharitably, Annie.^^ 

Miss Winthrop^s smile and voice were both 
thoughtful as she said, This is New Year’s eve. 
It is a good time for us, like Pharaoh’s butler, ^ to 
remember our faults,’ and I must own that natu- 
rally I believe it is my character to be severe and 
exacting in my judgments of others.” 

What is that thought of Farrar? ” asked Mr. 
Scott. Isn’t it to this effect, that people with high 
ideals are apt to be hard in their judgments? ” 
Yes,” Miss Winthrop answered, ^^I remem- 
ber that thought, but the fact that our ideal is 
high, while it may explain our hardness, does not 
excuse it.” 

I knew a man once who carried a yard-meas- 
ure in liis pocket, and always, when possible, 
wanted to measure his friends and learn their 
height,” said Mr. Thorn now, ^^and I think some 
people carry mental yard-measures, and are con- 
stantly measuring the abilities and attainments of 
their friends.” 

Well,” laughed Ruth, ^^is there any harm in 
that, if they give good measure ? ” 

^^No, not if they do, perhaps,” Mr. Thorn said, 
but that. Miss Ruth, is something like the height 
considered most desirable for a man. The most 
of us unfortunately fall short of it.” 


226 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


Pardon me/^ John said gently, even 

when we give good measure, I am afraid meas- 
uring other people is a dangerous amusement, and 
one that has a tendency to make us like ‘ the 
stand-aside-I-am-holier-than-thou Pharisee ^ men- 
tioned in the Talmud. We are very ready to be 
blind to our own short-comings, and equally ready 
to be far-sighted where the failings of our neigh- 
bors are concerned. And the eyes that are quick 
to discern flaws and faults, are very apt to grow 
sharp and uncharitable.^^ 

^^But we are not required to call black, white,’^ 
Miss Talbot said now. 

Miss Winthrop answered, nor, always, 
my dear, to assert that black is black.^^ 

What then?^^ Euth asked. ^^If Emerson is 
to be believed, eyes are made for seeing. Miss 
Winthrop.’^ 

Veil them with charity,^^ she gently answered; 
the light is softer, theii.^’ 

Ruth said, in the quick way peculiar to 
her, when deeply in earnest, ‘^if we only could. 
But veils of charity are not woven in earthly 
looms, you know, Miss Winthrop.^^ 

^^And yet they may be had for the asking,’^ 
M iss Winthrop answered, in her thoughtful voice. 

My dear,^^ she said in a moment to Ruth, who, 
in her interest, had come close to her, instead of 
talking any longer in metaphors, let me give you 


QUESTIONS. 


227 


a little leaf from my own history. It may help 
yon. Sometimes I think that is one reason why 
bitter experiences are sent to us, that, taught by 
them, we may be able to strengthen those who 
have not yet passed the way through which we 
have already journeyed.’^ 

Ruth nestled close to her kind friend^s side, and 
in a voice, meant only for her. Miss Winthrop 
continued : 

It was years ago, my dear. I was young and 
impulsive, full of high aspirations for myself, and 
sadly prone to demand the superlative degree of 
goodness from my friends. Like Mr. Thorn’s 
acquaintance, I was very apt to carry and use a 
yard-measure. And, as Mr. Millington suggested, 
I failed in using it: for, though my measuring 
might be just, it invariably fell short of being 
charitable. And oh, my dear,” and Miss Win- 
throp’s voice trembled a little, think where we 
would be, if he who knows our frame was only 
just, but not merciful and compassionate also.” 

'' May I sit here? ” John asked, at that moment, 
as he placed his hand on a chair just opposite 
Ruth and near Miss Winthrop. 

She smiled and gave the desired permission, and 
then went on with her story. 

My measuring yard had been for some time in 
constant use, when there came a new teacher to 
our quiet town. I welcomed her coming. I 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


228 

\ 

believed at first that she had quite attained all 
things that were true, and lovely, and of good 
report, and I thought her influence would tell 
powerfully for all that was beautiful and good 
among us.^’ 

^^Well,^^ Ruth asked, with great interest, as 
Miss Winthrop paused. 

Miss Winthrop sighed a little, ‘^It was not 
well, my dear. Very soon I heard reports of her 
past life that were very much to the discredit of 
that young teacher. I could not doubt what I 
heard ; it was too well substantiated. Sorrowful 
mistakes and failures had marked her early years. 
And then, instead of exercising a little of the 
charity that suffereth long and is kind, instead of 
hoping that, of her failures, she was building that 
beautiful ladder St. Augustine and Longfellow tell 
us of, I withdrew my confidence, I no longer gave 
her my support ; from being an earnest friend I 
became a critical and — worse — a condemning 
judge.” 

I don^t see how you could have done other- 
wise,’’ Ruth said impulsively. ‘^How could you 
help feeling that you had been deceived?” 

I could have helped being uncharitable in my 
thoughts and words about her,” Miss Winthrop 
answered. I was not called upon to untomb 
her past. I might, at least,-have judged her by 
myself, and believed that where she had erred, she 


QUESTIONS. 


229 


had also repented. I might have believed — when 
all her deeds confirmed it — in her present sincerity, 
and, above all, I might have remembered that the 
judgment-seat was not for me, and I might have 
been patient, and, like charity, hoped and prayed- 
all good things for her future.’^ 

How did it end?^^ Ruth asked now, for Miss 
Winthrop had paused as if she had finished her 
story. Were you ever friends again ? 

Miss Winthrop sighed. learned humility 
and charity after a long struggle,^^ she said, and 
I ceased at last to demand impossible goodness 
from her or any one. She did not remain long in 
our village. She went her way in the world, and 
for years she has been a faithful laborer in a far- 
oflP portion of our Master’s vineyard. I see her 
name sometimes in the reports of Christian 
workers, sometimes a word comes to me from her- 
self, and I know that she has done her life-work 
well, and that when she lays it down, it will be to 
receive a merited reward. The hardness on my 
part that made her heart ache once, she long ago 
forgot, but I can never recall that period of my 
life without sorrowful regrets. I have told you 
of this — one of my many failures — in the hope 
that it will r^nind you to be careful how you 
measure others by any standard of your own, and 
lead you to covet still more earnestly God’s best 
gift, of the charity that thinketh no evil.” 

20 


V 


230 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


I came across a thought something like this/^ 
John said soon, breaking the thoughtful silence 
that had followed Miss Winthrop’s last words : 
Mie who is unforgiving and uncharitable in his 
judgments, breaks the only' bridge by which he 
can himself go to heaven/ 

Miss Winthrop said, with moistening 
eyes, it is much to kifow the truth, but they 
only are happy who do it/^ 

^‘Emma,^^ Miss Winthrop asked, an hour later, 
when all had left the library save herself and Mrs. 
Rolfe, Emma, what do you know of that Mr. 
Millington ? 

‘^Know of him?’’ Mrs. Rolfe echoed, Why, 
enough to trust him implicitly, Annie.” 

^^Yes, I know. I, don’t mean that,” Miss 
Winthrop answered hurriedly. What do you 
know of his family ? Has he a father ? ” 

Oh, yes ; I have heard him speak of his father 
several times.” 

Miss Winthrop still looked dissatisfied. 

am peculiar,” she said slowly, ^^but I can- 
not help believing that there are earthly reasons 
for a great many things we are inclined to attrib- 
ute solely to spiritual influences. Now Mr. Scott 
may be right in thinking that resemblances be- 
tween strangers are due to mental and spiritual 
affinities only. But, if I were he, I would, in this 
particular case at least, inquire well into the hap- 


QUESTIONS. 


231 


penings and workings of this mundane sphere we 
live in, before I went off into speculations about 
the far-off and unknown/’ 

Don’t,” Mrs. Rolfe exclaimed earnestly, ^^for 
sweet pity’s sake, don’t suggest such a thought to 
them, Annie: when a wound is healing, it is cruel 
to probe it.” 

I wont hurt them,” Miss Winthrop answered, 
but for years I have dreamed that some day I 
should unravel this mystery, and so” — she added 
slowly — I expect truly to do before I die. Is 
Susie still in the asylum?” she asked, after a 
little silence. 

Yes,” Mrs. Rolfe answered briefly. 

^^And Francis, where is he? Have they ever 
heard from him since he went off?” 

Never. They believe that he is dead.” 

‘‘1 believe they take too much for granted,” 
Miss Winthrop said, a little impatiently. 

I believe they have learned submission,” Mrs. 
Rolfe replied, ^^and I am glad if they have finally 
abandoned hope. To hope for what is impossible 
is only cruel torture, Annie. Don’t you think 
Wilma seems brighter than when you saw her 
last ? ” 

If she does, it is a brightness that owes its light 
more to heaven than to earth,” Miss Winthrop 
answered sorrowfully. 

I think it does her good to be surrounded by 


232 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


young people/^ Mrs. Rolfe continued. ^^She is 
very fond of Ruth, and I think she is much 
pleased with Mr. Millington.^^ 

Pleased, Miss Winthrop repeated; ^Svell, 
truly, she would be too fastidious for this world 
if she were not. You say he has a father, do you ? 
Of course vou know, and still I find it hard to 
believe you. I did think that, like an Indian, I 
had found a trail at last. If I were superstitious 
I should say that I had had a revelation this 
evening; but I suppose, after all my fancies, that 
I am only a silly dreamer, and I believe I will go 
to bed. But, remember — she added, as she went 
towards the door — remember, I never have 
given and I never shall give up hope, and, if this 
world lasts and I live, I expect to ferret out the 
truth yet.’^ 

^^If you do,^^ Mrs. Rolfe answered, ^^book- 
writing will not be your best work, Annie. Good- 
night.^^ 


CHAPTER XIII. 


SERMONS. 

“ Like warp and woof all destinies ^ 

Are Avoven fa.^t, 

Linked in sym atliy like the keys 
Of an organ V'' , 

Pluck one threa'.i, and the Aveb ye mar; 

Break but one 

Of a thousand keys, and the paining jar 
Through all will run.” — Whittier, 

P EACEFULLY dawned the new year for the 
little company at Solitude. If, standing on 
its unknown threshold, each heart felt the pres- 
sure of hopes and fears peculiar to itself, no words 
revealed it, and with the utterance of the first 
good-morning wishes the new year took its place, 
and, without any outward change, life went on 
under the new reign even as it had under the old. 

That first day of the year was also the first day 
of the week — a fitting time for memory to glance 
backward, while hope looked forward — but it was 
very cold ; a wind that had been cradled among 
icebergs blew from th^ north, gray storm-clouds 
hung low, and ever and anon great flakes of snow 
drifted down, and seemed, as they lighted here and 

20 * ( 233 ) 


234 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


there, like the advanced guard of the fierce storm 
the voices of the air proclaimed upon its way. 

Under such circumstances a ride of five miles, 
to the nearest church, was not thought advisable 
for either people or horses ; and about church 
time several of the family gathered in the library, 
and looked disconsolately from its windows. 

What shall we do with ourselves ? Miss 
Talbot asked gloomily. In such an atmosphere, 
and under such a mournful sky as this, I feel as 
if I were breathing under a pall. Kuth,you usu- 
ally have some sunshiny resources for such days 
as this ; so do propose something now to brighten 
us up/^ 

Suppose we have a reading,’^ Ruth suggested, 
remember that I used to like to hear Mr. Mill- 
ington read ; we might ask him to read us a ser- 
mon now, since we cannot go to church.’^ 

sermon,^^ Miss Talbot ejaculated. ^^Oh, 
well,^^ she added in despair, ^Mo ask him, if you 
please. With a snow-storm without, and a ser- 
mon within, things will at least be harmonious. 
That they should be agreeable is of secondary im- 
portance.’’ 

A little disturbed by Miss Talbot’s words, Ruth 
made no move to act upon her permission, but 
now Miss Winthrop spoke. 

I think your suggestion a very good one, my 
dear,” she said cheerfully to Ruth, ^^and I will 


SFmiONS, 


235 


ask Mr. Millington myself.^^ And going to the 
parlor where John sat reading, she soon returned 
with him. 

‘^What style of sermon do you want?^^ he 
asked pleasantly, as he went to one of the book- 
shelves. 

t 

^^Oh, anything will answer that has firstly, sec- 
ondly, and thirdly in it,’^ Miss Talbot answered, 
with indifference. A sermon’s a sermon, and it 
doesn’t matter much, to me, what it’s about. I 
sit through sermons, just as I sit through inter- 
views with uncongenial people — from a sense of 
duty — and I think my own thoughts, generally, 
and pay little attention to the speaker’s.” 

John made no reply to the young lady’s frivo- 
lous words. Passing them by, in a silence that 
annoyed her far more than a scornful remark would 
have done, he turned to Ruth. 

And you, Miss Selwyn?” he briefly asked. 

She hesitated a moment, but then she said : I 

do not like sermons that attempt to prove that the 
unanswerable questions of the Bible have been all 
answered and settled for us by men, whose opinions 
we are bound, in duty, to receive as infallible and 
unquestionable. Such sermons — like the good 
books Mrs. Browning speaks of — often make me 
feel ^athirst by suggestion.’ I don’t want 
^ views,’ I want helps,” she added. 

And you, Mr. Thorn ? ” 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


236 

\ 

anything intellectual and eloquent \vill 
satisfy me/^ that gentleman answered carelessly. 

I may neither care for nor believe the text, but 
when it is treated eloquently, I can listen, just as 
when a boy I used to take bitter medicine for the 
sake of the sweetmeats in which it was carefully 
concealed.^^ 

I am easily pleased,’’ Miss Winthrop remarked 
now, as John looked at her. To me a good ser- 
mon is always stimulating and suggestive. Only 
give us a strong text, Mr. Millington. I never 
like the trumpet to give an uncertain sound at 
the beginning.” 

John smiled as, taking down a book, he came to 
a seat near the little group in the window. 

Here is a sermon that ought to satisfy Mr. 
Thorn,” he said, for its author’s name is almost 
a synonym for intellect and eloquence. As for 
M iss Talbot, since she can exist more happily 
without than with thought, I suppose I need not 
consider her taste; but I think Miss Selwyn will 
like it, and the text — at least — will fulfil Miss 
Winthrop’s requirement ; ” and he slowly read, 

^ If any man have not the spirit of Christ, he is 
none of his.’ ” 

‘‘Yes,” Miss Winthrop said, as she settled her- 
self comfortably in her chair, “ that is strong and 
unshakable as Gibraltar.” 

The sermon was strong and eloquent as the 


SERMONS, 


237 


strength of a great intellect and the power of a 
mighty faith could make it. Even Miss Talbot 
felt its force, and when the reading ended a thought-, 
ful silence followed, but soon Mr. Thorn spoke. 

I wish I could believe as that writer does,^^ he 
said, in a serious voice. The belief of a great 
intellect is entitled to respect and consideration ; 
but you see, Millington, my difficulty is just here: 
I look about me and I see, on the one hand, the 
great mass of people going their own way, doing 
their own wills, and seeking their own pleasure, 
or happiness, or honor, with no thought of self- 
denial for the sake of One above themselves. And 
then, on the other hand, I see a little company of 
— enthusiasts, I believe the world calls them — who 
believe that Christ is all the Bible declares him to 
be, and believe also, that he calls them to follow 
him, and obey his will, and serve him as his ser- 
vants, and seek first his kingdom and his honor; 
and I am j)uzzled to decide which is right, the 
world or the enthusiasts, and end by staying with 
the world, because — I suppose — my strongest in- 
clinations draw me to it. And then, you cannot 
deny but what it has the weight of numbers and 
popularity.^’ 

Nevertheless,” John said gravely, the enthu- 
siasts are right.” 

If I could believe so,” Mr. Thorn began, 
and then he exclaimed abruptly — See here. 


238 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Millington, what do you do, then, with the great 
company who are not enthusiasts. Do you con- 
demn them all?^^ 


‘ The judgment-seat is not for me, 

Ite verdicts are not mine. 

And the eyes that shall fix the praise or blame 
See farther than mine or thine, ^ 


John slowly repeated. 

You are trying to maintain a neutral position, 
when — all the while — you know you have a de- 
cided opinion, Mr. Thorn said impatiently. 
“ Millington, tell me — I am in no trifling mood — 
what do you think ? 

I think,’^ John said, in a quiet but impressive 
voice, that if we could look beneath the surface, 
and know the inner life of the people around us, 
who seem to us so careless and unconcerned, we 
would find, many times, that the sacred fire of 
love to Christ, though burning very low in their 
hearts, has never gone quite out. But I also 
think — and now John’s eyes looked full at Mr. 
Thorn — I also think, that such people fail, sor- 
rowfully and censurably, in giving loyal service 
and honor to their King. And there, I think, is 
where you likewise fail, Mr. Thorn.” 

The words were plain and searching, but a 
yearning love for an immortal soul shone through 
them, and Mr. Thorn could not take offence. 


SER3I0NS, 


239 


Convince nie/^ he said, ^^that Clirist is truly 
all that you believe. And then — your faith shall 
be mine.^^ 

Words will never convince yon/^ John answered 
slowly. It is only those who seek to do Christ’s 
will who know his preciousness.” 

‘^And you believe,” Mr. Thorn continued to 
question, *^you firmly believe that Christ is the 
only way to heaven?” 

‘ There is none other name under heaven, 
given among men, whereby we must be saved,’ ” 
John reverently quoted. Mr. Thorn looked 
troubled, but did not speak, and in a minute John 
asked ; Have you ever read the old tradition of 
the corner-stone of the temple, Mr. Thorn ? ” 
^^No,” Mr. Thorn answered indifferently. I 
know very little about that old temple, but I 
believe it was considered a type of Christ, was it 
not ? ” 

Of Christ and of his church,” John explained. 

Yes,” Miss Winthrop remarked. I remember 
once hearing an earnest preacher say, that Hhe 
walls of the temple were, all ablaze with Christ.’” 
Ruth’s face lit up, as it always did when a sug- 
gestive thought was given her, but John went 
quietly on. 

‘^You remember how those wonderful stones 
were all hewn and chiseled in distant quarries, 
and brought to the temple-court polished, and 


240 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


ready to be fitted into place without the sound of 
hammer or other tool. Among them — so the old 
legend runs — was one stone that the workmen 
rejected : they saw no need of it, and found no 
place for it ; but with the other stones they 
worked, and out of them they tried to rear the 
glorious temple the king had ordered them to 
build. 

^^With careful painstaking they wrought, but 
wrought in vain, for the corner-stone was wanting. 
At last, when all other efforts had proved fruit- 
less, they turned to the rejected stone. It fitted : 
and with it in its place — and only then — they 
could complete their work. The stone which the 
builders rejected had become the head-stone of the 
corner. 

‘‘Shall I read you the sermon in that stone 
John asked, as he met Mr. Thorn’s eyes. “ The 
character that would abide God’s tests, the soul 
.that would know itself safe, must build upon 
Christ, as the chief corner-stone. There is no 
other foundation.” 

Mr. Thorn looked fixedly at John a moment, 
and then, without a word, arose and left the room. 
Miss Winthrop and Miss Talbot soon followed, 
and only Ruth remained behind. 

“ Mr. Millington,” she said, with some timidity, 
“may I ask a very impertinent question?” 

“ If you can,” he said, .... he turned to her with 


SER3WNS, 


241 


the same briglit smile he had often given her in 
Aunt Pliillis’ kitchen. 

That smile was evidently very reassuring, for 
Ruth said quickly, ^^Ah ! }"ou do not know how 
far my ability extends in that direction/^ 

But then her face and voice changed, and she 
said soberly, I want to ask this question, Mr. 
Millington — are you satisfied with yourself 

If Ruth had only known the pain her simple 
question gave — it was not answered immediately, 
and when it was, John only said : 

Not with myself, but fully with my King.” 
^^And do you believe that he is satisfied with 
you?” Ruth asked again. 

John looked at her a moment, and then, as he 
understood the secret thought that had prompted 
her question, he asked : 

^‘If you possessed a gem that was very rough, 
and shone with dim or scarcely any light, would 
you be satisfied with it, Miss Selwyn?” 

Why, no, of course not,” she quickly answered, 
I should want it cut and polished, until its utmost 
beauty and perfection were revealed.” 

^^And still, even wb.en it was roughest, you 
would love and prize your gem because of the beauty 
that, though hidden, you believed possible for it, 
would you not?” 

Yes,” she answered, in a low tone. 

He looked at her with a smile, and his voice 

21 Q 


242 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


was very gentle as he said, “ You have read my 
parable, I think/^ 

Ruth’s eyes were cast down, and when, in a 
minute, she raised them and spoke, her voice was 
very humble. ‘^Mr. Millington,” she said, 
know what you mean. I think there are many 
Christians who are like gems in their natural state, 
precious, though 'unpolished ; but I do not dare 
to think of myself as such a gem, and often it 
seems to me almost incredible that my Saviour 
should love me, or care to make me perfect ; and 
yet, I do want — before everything else — to belong 
to Christ, and I do want him to make me all I 
ought to be. Can you tell me ” — and she looked 
at John as she had often when a child — ^^can you 
tell me what my trouble is? what holds me 
back ? ” 

I think,” John answered gently, that you 
think too much of your own weakness, and not 
enough of your Saviour’s power. Remember, it 
is not your goodness, but his that saves you.” 

know that,” she said humbly, but I know, 
too, that I ought to be better than I am, and 
sometimes nothing expresses my feelings so fully 
as this old Episcopal collect — do you know it? — 
^Through my sins and wickednesses I am sore 
let and hindered in running the race set before 
me.”’ 

A few tears fell as Ruth ended her sad confes- 


SEE3I0NS. 


243 


sion, and knowing that she was one who needed 
comfort and encouragement as well as counsel, 
John said kindly, as if speaking to the little Ruth 
of other days: There is always sunshine where 

there are shadows. Miss Selwyn. Have you never 
noticed that when the sunbeams are -brightest in 
our rooms, we see the specks of dust plainest?’’ 
Ruth’s face showed that she was following his 
thought, but she did not speak. 

I think,” John gently continued, ^Hhat we 
may learn a beautiful lesson from that little fact. 
Miss Selwyn, for nature is full of types, if we will 
only read them.” 

She sighed even while she smiled. 

“I am afraid I can read in it only this: that 
even as I would free my room of dust, so my heart 
must be cleansed of its sins,” she said softly. 

^^We all need constantly to remember that,” 
John answered gravely, but sometimes we need 
to^take the encouragement and comfort of this 
other truth : that, as onlv the sunshine can reveal 
the dust, so it is only when our hearts are softened 
and touched by the Spirit’s influence — only when 
he is talcing of the things of Christ, and showing 
them to us — that we feel the imperfections of our 
own lives, and the sinfulness of our own souls.”- 
Ruth’s face was still shadowed. 

I have never dared to comfort myself with 
such a thought,” she said humbly. 


244 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


You may take the comfort of it/^ he answered, 

if you will only remember that the times when 
you feel most deeply your need of Christ, are the 
very times when he waits to satisfy that need.’^ 

Just then Mr. Rolfe and his brother-in-law, 
followed by the two little boys, entered the library, 
and, wishing to be alone, John went out. 

Cousin Ruth,’’ cried Will, I want to know 
something. Did you come over in the May- 
flower ? ” 

Why don’t you ask if she didn’t come down 
on a sunbeam?” Mr. Scott said laughingly. 

She might have done the one as easily as the 
other.” 

Will looked a little puzzled. Is it as great 
an honor to descend from a sunbeam as from the 
Mayflower?” he asked seriously. 

‘‘ Quite as great, if it were possible,” Mr. Scott 
answered dryly. 

“ The Mayflower crossed the ocean more than 
two hundred years ago, Will,” Mr. Rolfe said 
now, ^^so how could cousin Ruth have come over 
in her?” 

Will fell back on his favorite method of self- 
defence. You know what I mean,” he insisted. 
‘^Did her ancestors come over in her?” 

You are beginning rather early to be interested 
in ancestry,” Mr. Scott said. Pray, what has 
turned your attention to that subject?” 


I* 




SER3I0NS. 245 

Will explained, heard Miss Talbot 
talking to Mr. Thorn just now, and she said 
somebody’s ancestors came over in the Mayflower, 
and so it didn’t matter much what he said or did, 
his family would admit him anywhere.” 

Mr. Scott frowned angrily. What outrageous 
nonsense peoj:)le, who are supposed to be possessed 
of common-sense, do utter sometimes,” he said 
severely, ‘^and with what false and dangerous 
ideas they fill young minds.” 

Why, isn’t it true?” Will asked. Isn’t it a 
good thing to have ancestors ? ” 

^^It is a much better thing to have character, 
my little son,” Mr. Rolfe said kindly. 

^^M iss Talbot said our family tree would be a 
great help to Jack and me when we were men,” 
Will said, in a moment. 

God’s blessing, and your own endeavors, will 
be much greater helps,” Mr. Scott answered. 

Listen, Will,” he continued gravely, young as 
you are, I believe it will be well for you to have 
a clear understanding of this subject now. It is a 
good thing for a man to have an honorable old 
name, and a noble old family history, when, at the 
same time, he has the courage, honor, and resolu- 
tion that would make a name and found a family 
for himself if he were not born to them. But, if 
he wants the will and ability, by honorable work, 
to make a name and a ))lace for himself in the 

2V^ - 


\ 


246 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


world, then his old name, and his old family, can 
no more make a noble man of him, than veneer- 
ing can make pine wood real mahogany 

Then, don’t you want me to be proud of my 
name?” Will asked doubtfully. 

I would much rather have you feel responsible 
for it,” Mr. Rolfe answered seriously. If you 
have a name to be proud of, Will, it is only be- 
cause those who bore it before you were true and 
faithful men, who suffered no stain to come upon 
it. And now it is your duty to prove that you are 
worthy of it, not by boasting of, or resting upon it, 
but by so living that you will add new honor to it.” 
^^That is what Mr. Millington is doing, I 
guess,” Will said, with a wise shake of his little 
head. 

O, uncle,” he continued, as, standing beside 
Mr. Scott, his bright eyes rested on a seal attached 
to his watch-chain, ^^do you know that Mr. Mill- 
ington has a motto, and it is just like yours?” 
Like mine?” Mr. Scott asked, in surprise. 
^^Are you sure. Will ?” 

If I am not, I will be,” Will said, in his 
most decided manner, and running out of the 
library, he went in search of John. 

Mr. Millington,” he said, when he had found 
him, may I take your seal ? I want to read the 
Latin on it.” 

John smiled. You will not find your read- 


I 


SE1^3I0JSrs: 


247 ' 


ing very laborious, Will, for it is only two words,’’ 
lie said, but you can puzzle over it as long as 
you like.” > And grasping the seal. Will hurried 
back to his uncle. 

' ^^I’ve got it,” he announced, ^^and it’s just as 
I said, uncle ; it’s Te-nax pro-poski. Now, isn’t 
that like yours?” 

Yes,” Mr. Scott said ; it is my family motto. 
Will. I wonder,” he added, after a little thought, 
how Mr. Millington came by it.” 

‘ I know,” Ruth said, from the window where 
she was still sitting. He told me once that a 
minister, who was very kind to him, told him to 
choose it for his motto, and be true to it” 

Mr. Millington has parents living, has he 
not ? ” Mr. Scott asked now. 

- I think so,” Mr. Rolfe said, and Ruth added : 
Oh, yes, I have seen his father, old Mr. Mill- 
ington, and papa said he was one of nature’s 
noblemen ; he was so true, and honest, and thor- 
oughly good.” 

1 can readily believe that of Mr. Millington’s 
father,” Mr. Scott said gravely. 

Nothing more was said at that time, but later in 
the day, w^hen the family gathered in the parlor, 
some one asked, Where is Mr. Millington?’’ 

can tell you,” volunteered Jack; ^Oie is 
studying his Bible. He does so much Bible-study- 
ing every Sunday,” he gratuitously explained. 


248 


OUT OF THE S.HADOW. 


Whatever he attempts, I believe he 5s bound 
to accomplish ; his motto is certainly well chosen/^ 
Mr. Rolfe said pleasantly to Mr. Scott. 

Will caught the remarks. Mamrna/^ he ex- 
claimed, don’t you think it very strange? Mr. 
Millington’s motto is just like uncle’s.” 

What is it, Will?” Miss Talbot asked. 
am always interested in family mottoes.” 

^^Tenax propositi , Will answered, a little proud 
to pronounce the Latin words, and it means, 
‘ tenacious of purpose.’ That’s a good motto, isn’t 
it?” 

Yes, very,” Miss Talbot answered. 

How did he come by it?” Miss Winthrop 
asked, in a quick, almost sharp voice. 

^^Oh, by mere accident,” Mr. Rolfe explained 
carelessly. He chose it when a boy. Miss Ruth 
says, and his choice seems to have been one of the 
unconscious prophecies we read about sometimes.” 
Just then a sigh from Mrs. Scott caused her 
friends to turn towards her. She looked pale, and, 
saying quickly, This room is very warm,” Mr. 
Scott led her away. 

^‘Ruth,” Miss Winthrop asked that evening, 
when she found the young girl alone in the library, 
‘^Ruth, what do you know of Mr. Millington’s 
family ? ” 

I know that he has a father, and a motlier, 
and five brothers and sisters,” Ruth answered. 


SERMONS. 


249 


^^You are sure? you don^t think you can be 
mistaken ? ’’ 

^^No, certainly not/^ Ruth answered, to the last 
question. have known about his family ever 
since I have known him.^^ 

‘‘Then how did he come by that motto, I’d like 
to know,” Miss Winthrop said, in a doubtful 
voice. 

“ Why, I don’t think his having that at all 
strange,” Ruth innocently explained. “When he' 
was a young boy he was very anxious to have a 
thorough education, but he was poor and could 
have one only through his own exertions, and just 
about the time he began to study at Hancock he 
found that motto, and it expressed so perfectly 
what he felt he must be, if he would accomplish 
anything good and great in his life, that he resolved 
to take it for his own, and try, with all his might, 
to adhere to it. And I think he has done so, 
don’t you?” she added lightly. 

Miss Winthrop did not answer, and Ruth soon 
went in search of her younger friends. Left alone, 
the older woman sat for awhile in deep thought. 

“ Well,” she said, at last, “ he has parents, and 
brothers, and sisters; that fact seems established 
on too firm a foundation to admit of ray doubting 
it; and, of course, it is not strange that that motto 
should have pleased an ambitious boy. It is all 
simple and clear as sunlight; and yet the sunlight 


250 OUT OF THE SHADOW, 

can be broken into colors, and I am all the time 
possessed by a strange fancy that these facts, that 
look so plain, might be explained by other facts 
that would change them greatly. But I suppose 
it is useless to let imagination work in that direc- 
tion any longer. No matter whether it pleases or 
displeases you, if a thing is true, you cannot change 
it, and it is the wisest course to accept what is, 
and not think too much of what might have been. 
But, oh dear,^’ the good lady sighed, while she 
rubbed her eyes, as if to brush away some film 
that hindered clear vision, I do wonder if I ever 
will — as an Indian would say — find the right 
trail.’^ 


CHAPTER XIV. 


CONFIDENCES. 

“ Wherever in the world I am, 

In whatsoe’er estate, 

I have a fellowship with hearts, 

To keep and cultivate. 

And a work of lowly love to do 
For the Lord on whom I wait.” 

— 3Iiss Waring, 

T he pleasant holidays were past, and on 
Monday the visitors, who, for a week, had 
made Solitude so unlike its name, took their de- 
parture. 

Good-bye, Mr. Millington,’’ Mr. Scott said 
warmly. Meeting you has given us great pleas- 
ure, and remember, whenever you are iu the city, 
you will find friends at our house.” 

Yes,” Mrs. Scott added gently, a warm wel- 
come will always await you there, Mr. Millington, 
and you will promise me to claim it, will you not?” 
Gratefully John gave the desired promise, and 
with keen regret he looked after his new friends 
as the carriage bore them away. How or why it 
was he could not explain; other strangers had 
noticed him kindly, but none had ever impressed 

( 251 ) 


252 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


him like Mr. and Mrs. Scott, and he felt that his 
life would be the richer for having known them, 
and that, however cold the world in the future 
might seem to him, their memory would always be 
a warm and softening influence in his heart. 

That afternoon — moved by some strange im- 
pulse — he opened the box that, on his last visit to 
Hermitsville, Mrs. Millington had insisted that he 
should take, and looked long at the pictured faces 
in the old daguerrotype. Who were they ? — he 
sadly wondered — what connection had they with 
his life? 

He could find no answer to those weighty ques- 
tions, but suddenly, as he gazed, a new thought 
— and one he scarcely- dared to clothe in language 
— arose in his mind. 

Was he dreaming, or was there really a resem- 
blance between those pictures and the friends he 
had parted from that morning? 

The bare suggestion of such a resemblance made 
his heart throb violently. He would not suffer 
himself to dwell upon it, but when, a little later, 
he joined the boys for a walk, he could not resist 
asking ; 

Will, how did your aunt lose the little child 
she mourns so deeply ? ’’ 

Why it died and went to heaven, of course/’ 
Will answered, with great assurance. 

You are sure? ” 


CONFIDENCES, 


253 


course/^ Will replied, in his most decided 
manner. I never heard of folks losing babies in 
any other way ; did you ? 

John did not feel called upon to tell what he 
had heard, but as he ILstened to Will the fancy, 
that might have grown into a hope, was crushed ; 
and that night he securely sealed the box contain- 
ing his mysterious treasures, wrote upon its cover, 

God knows I bide his time,’^ and placed it among 
books and papers he rarely examined, in the bottom 
of his trunk. 

Rapidly the remaining months of winter slipped 
away, the spring and summer followed with equal 
swiftness, and with the coming of autumn John 
decided that he must resign his pleasant position 
and go to the city. 

He had worked faithfully by himself and made 
good progress; one year more of diligent labor 
and he would be ready to begin his life-work, 
and that last year it was absolutely necessary for 
him to reside where he could have the assistance 
of lectures and greater advantages than he could 
command at Solitude. His year’s salary would 
help him well on his way. What farther nieans 
he might require he would, by some honest labor, 
obtain. He was possessed of life’s greatest wealth 
— health, strength, and ability and willingness to 
work — and he had no fears now that he could not 
make his way through difficulties. 

22 


254 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


And so, in accordance with his well-formed 
plans, before the red-leaf days of October came, 
with many regrets on their part, as well as on his, 
he left the pleasant family at Solitude and went to 
the city. He found a quiet room in a poor but 
respectable part of the city, accessible to the law 
school, and there he comfortably established him- 
self. His meals he took at a restaurant near. It 
was a lonely life, but it suited him better than the 
uncongenial atmosphere of a cheap boarding-house, 
and with his books, and the copying and proof- 
reading with which he occupied his leisure and 
kept his purse from growing empty, he had no 
time to give to society or even to spend in wishing 
for it. 

The temptation to devote himself exclusively to 
his work was often great, but firmly believing 
that health and physical strength were talents, for 
wdiose preservation and faithful use God would 
hold him as strictly accountable as for the cultiva- 
tion of his mental powers, John studied carefully 
the laws of health, and resolutely obeyed them. 

The house in which he lodged was a very small 
one, and he was the only lodger in it. It was 
occupied by a hard-working mechanic and his 
wife — who worked equally hard at her machine 
— two or three half-grown children, and an old 
gray-haired man who was — John soon learned — ■ 
his landlady’s father. He was old and bent, and 


CONFIDENCES. 


255 


trembled as he leaned upon his stout cane, and 
whenever he met him John invariably stopped to 
speak kindly to liim, and offer such little atten- 
tions as the young and strong are privileged often 
to give the aged and infirm. 

This kindness touched the old man, who in his 
rough life had met with more rebuffs than atten- 
tions, and one Sabbath afternoon, as John sat 
alone in his room, there came a slow, hesitating 
knock at his door. 

Come in,’’ he called kindly, and as the door 
opened he looked up and saw Grandfather Groves 
— as the children called him — standing timidly 
on the threshold. 

To close the book — in which he was at that 
moment deeply interested — and spring up, take 
the old man by the hand, lead him to the fire 
that was burning brightly in the little grate, and 
seat him in the most comfortable chair in his 
room, was — for John — as simple and natural an 
act as it was for him to breathe. 

“ I am glad to see you, grandfather,” he said 
sincerely ; how do you do to-day ? ” 

The old man had placed his cane between his 
knees, on it clasped his two trembling hands, and 
now sat resting his chin on them. 

I’m tol’rable, mister, only tol’rable,” lie said ' 
dolefully. 

Tolerable; that means moderately comfortable,” 


256 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


John said, in a bright, encouraging voice. Look 
up, grandfather; it is a great thing in this world 
to he even moderately comfortable.^^ 

The old man shook his head slowly. It 
might be worse, that^s sartin,^^ he said ; but 

then, too’^ — and a gleam that was something like 
luirnor stole into the dim eyes — ‘^then, too, it 
might be betterhi it is. And so you see, after all, 
mister, it’s pretty hard to be satisfied.^^ 

John did not attempt to argue the question. < 
He only nodded pleasantly, stirred his fire, threw 
on a few fresh coals and then placed a little choco- 
late-pot upon them. Been out to-day, grand- 
father ? he asked ; been to church ? 

No,’^ was the sober ansvyer. James and 
Jenny, they’ve been, an’ so has the children. 
But someway church don’t do me no good, mister, 
an’ I b’lieve I’m better off at home.” 

Why is that ? ” John asked, stirring the choco- 
late, which filled the room with its tempting odor. 

‘‘ I don’t seem to get no help there,” the old' 
man sighed. I sit down there, an’ try to listen, 
but I get to thinkin’, an’ don’t get comforted; 
an’ it’s comfort old folks want, mister, more’ii 
’most anything else.” 

^^Yes, I believe it,” John said, as he brought 
a couple of cups, filled them with the fragrant 
chocolate and, placing one on a little table beside 
Grandfather Groves, sat down beside him. 


CONFIDENCES, 


257 


Drink that, grandfather/^ John said kindly, 
and as the old man obeyed, and with evident en- 
joyment slowly sipped the chocolate, he waited 
until the nourishing drink had done its work, 
and freshened the tired body a little, and then he 
brought his little Bible, and said simply, as if 
speaking to' a child : 

^^We want a great many kinds of comfort in 
this world, grandfather, but after all there is 
only one kind that never fails ; and when I feel 
the want of that kind most, I always find it here,^^ 
and John lovingly tapped the Bible as he spoke. 

Hey ! what? where d’ve find it?” Grand- 
father Groves asked eagerly. But as he noticed 
the book his voice changed again to its usual 
' doleful tone. 

^^Yes — I see — that’s the Bible,” he said slowly. 
^‘Well, mister, I s’pose it does comfort some 
folks. I’ve noticed that the ministers always say 
so; but it don’t never seem to say much that’s 
comforting to me. Maybe I don’t know ’xactly 
where to find the good places,” he added, in a 
moment. ^^You see, mister, I’ve had a hard life, 
aint been much sunshine for me, only lots of hard 
work, lots of trouble. I aint never had much 
time to play, nor never many easy hours.” 

know, grandfather. I understand it all.” 

^^Ay, you think so,” the trembling voice said 
slowly ; but you don’t. You aint had speri- 

22=J-- It 


258 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


ence. You are young; you aint been through it 
all yet. Wait till you are old, like me, an’ then, 
maybe, you will understand. But I hope you 
wont/’ he exclaimed, with sudden energy ; I hope 
you wont never have to pass through the fires 
that I’ve gone through, an’ come out scorched an’ 
burned like me.” 

^^Tell me about your life, grandfather,” John 
said, feeling that to give him sympathy and -win 
his confidence would be the surest way to do him 
good, and pushing away his now emptied cup the 
old man said : 

’Taint much to tell, mister. It’s all con- 
tained in two words — work an’ disappointment. I 
was young, like you, when I first came over here 
from the old country, an’ I had a good trade, and 
what was better, a good, smart wife, if ever a man 
did have one. Well, I got work pretty soon, 
right here in this city, an’ for awhile we got 
along with tol’rable comfort. But the children 
came fast, mister, an’ tliough they brought their 
welcome with ’em, they brought, too, harder work 
for me an’ the mother, to keep the wolf from the 
door. But she didn’t complain, the mother. She 
always said, someway or other we’d get along. 
But it was harder an’ harder to get along, an’ by 
an’ by she seemed to get tired of trying ; she give 
up. An’ one day — one November day, just like 
this ” — and the old man glanced through the 


CONFIDENCES. 


259 


window, out on the gray sky that was slowly 
shutting out the sunshine — ^^she went to sleep,, 
an’ we never could wake her up again. You see, 
she was so tired, mister, an’ it must take a long 
time to rest tired bodies like hers.” 

John’s only answer was a nod and look of in- 
terest, and the sad story went on. 

had seven children, mister, bright, pretty 
children they were, too, an’ I tried to take care 
of ’em ; but pretty soon scarlet fever came among 
’em, an’ five of ’em went after the mother. I 
needed comfort then ; I needed it dreadfully, an^ 
I didn’t know much about Bible comfort, an’ so, 
mister, I went down, down, fast as a man could 
go. I took to drink, an’ I lost my work, and I 
despised myself; but I couldn’t seem to help my- 
self. O mister, it is dreadful to see how lives run 
to waste in this world.” 

John did not speak, and after a moment, with 
a long sigh. Grandfather Groves continued: 

I had two daughters left : Jenny — the one I 
live with now — an’ Susie, as bright an’ likely a 
girl as you could wish to see. Jenny was staid 
and sober, she learned to sew early, an’ she mar- 
ried, an’ she’s had a tol’rable good life. But 
Susie, she was my fav’rite, an’ I set great store on 
her. She was pretty, an’ more ambitious-like 
than Jenny : she said she didn’t want to sew, an’ 
so she got a place in a rich man’s family. They 


260 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


were good people. The gentleman gave me a 
place in his garden, and he helped me moreen any- 
body else in this world ever did. He helped me 
to stop drinkin^; for I did stop, mister, an^ I don’t 
never drink now ; ” and the old man stopped 
and looked longingly at John for approval. 

I am very glad,” John said gently, and, as 
if that assurance strengthened him, the old man 
went on. 

There was a coachman there that Susie mar- 
ried pretty soon, and now things looked brighter 
than they’d ever done before ; but sunshine don’t 
never last long, an’ so, pretty soon, there came a 
terrible trouble to that family, an’ they blamed 
me, but I was innocent as a lamb.” The old 
man paused a moment, he had suddenly grown 
nervous and excited, and the rest of his story was 
mixed and incoherent. 

I didn’t know nothin’ about it, mister, and I 
didn’t mean no harm in coverin’ up about poor 
Susie, for she’d lost her little baby, and I always 
think, mister, it was the trouble made her crazy. 
Leastways she did go crazy, and her husband 
went off, and Susie’s been for years and years in the 
’sylum,'an’ someway the trouble seemed to unsettle 
me like ; I had a shock of the palsy, the doctor 
said, an’ I aint never been the same man since.” 

What was the name of that gentleman?” 
John asked, with an interest he could not explain. 


CONFIDENCES. 


261 


The old man shook his head. IVe tried an’ 
tried to think of it/’ he said sadly^ but I forgot 
most tilings when I had the stroke, an’ I clear 
forget that. I never seem to remember much 
now, only trouble and disappointment.” 

What was the trouble in the family?” John 
asked now. 

The old man looked at him as if the question 
bewildered him. 

Why, didn’t I tell you?” he asked mourn- 
fully. It was about the baby. You know Susie 
lost her baby.” 

John’s interest was strongly aroused; he felt 
very unwilling to let the subject drop, but old 
Mr. Groves seemed very tired, and feeling that it 
was cruel to worry him with questions that could 
only awaken unhappy memories, John opened his 
Bible and began to read. 

The sound of the peaceful words seemed to have 
a soothing effect on the old man ; the restless and 
unnatural excitement subsided, and he was soon in 
his usual state of tolerable comfort. 

^^Stop,” he said presently, as John finished the 
beautiful story of the alabaster box of ointment, 
^Ghat’s what I often feel like saying, mister — ^ To 
what purpose is this waste ? ’ ” 

It was not wasted,” John said gently ; it was 
given to the Saviour. Is anything too precious to 
be given to him? ” 


N 


262 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

No, maybe not, if it is all true, as you think, 
and he wants it,’’ the old man said, ‘‘but still, 
mister, there is awful waste in this world, now, 
isn’t there? Don’t you see lives bruised and 
hearts broken every day, and aint it waste ? ” 

“ God knows,” John answered reverently. 

“ You say so,” and Grandfather Groves raised 
his gray head from his cane and looked sharply at 
John; “then, if he knows, why doesn’t he inter- 
fere? Look here, mister: there was a little child 
once, that ought to have grown up in a beautiful 
home, and made a rich, good man, but he was lost, 
lost.” The quivering voice became strangely agi- 
tated, and the withered hands trembled so, they 
could hardly support the cane. 

“Don’t think about it,” John said soothingly. 
“I cannot help thinking about it,” the trem- 
bling voice moaned. “Nights, when I cannot 
sleep, I keep thinking about it, an’ trying ' to 
understand it, but it’s all mysterious, and I can’t 
explain it; but I’m always thinkin’ that if there 
is a God in heaven, it’s very strange he didn’t in- 
terfere. Why did he let such waste come, mister? 
Do you know ? can you tell ? ” 

From Grandfather Groves’ excitement John 
inferred that his thoughts were still dwelling on 
Susie’s baby. “ I would not call it waste,” he said 
gently; “if you knew all, you would be glad that 
God took that little child into his own safe care.” 


CONFIDENCES, 


263 


Only two or three words of John^s sentence did 
his hearer appear to notice. 

^/Yes/^ he said, while he dropped his head 
again upon his cane, ^^if I only knew — that is 
what I always say — if I only knew.’’ 

“ You will know, some day,” John said sooth- 
ingly. Listen : this is our Saviour’s own prom- 
ise : ^ What I do, thou k no west not now, but thou 
shalt know hereafter.’ ” 

Does he promise that? Ah ! ” — with a weary 
sigh — I wish that someday would come.” 

It will come, surely,” was the confident an- 
swer, but before it comes I think our Saviour 
wants you to do something for him.” 

What?” was the quick question. 

I think he wants you to learn to trust and 
love him,” John said softly. I think he wants 
you to believe that he will do all things well, 
though he does not let you always understand his 
dealings with you.” 

I haven’t been a good man,” the sad confession 
came, in broken w^ords. I’ve — been — what — you 

— call — a — sinner.” 

You have been what Jesus died to save,” was 
the tender answer ; you are what he is w^aiting 
to forgive.” 

Waiting ! — is he ? — are you sure ? ” 

‘‘Here is his own promise: ‘For this will the 
Lord wait that he may be gracious unto you.’ 


I 


264 OUT OF THE SHADOW, 

He has waited many years for you; will you’’ — 
and John’s voice was very gentle — will you keep 
liim waiting any longer?’’ 

I don’t know what to do, mister; tell me.” 

Let us ask Jesus to tell us what to do, and 
make us willing to do it,” John said, and kneel- 
ing, while the old man bowed his gray head upon 
his cane, he humbly prayed for mercy, help and 
light. 

Lord, help this wandering soul to arise and go 
unto the Father,” he entreated, and when the low 
prayer ceased, the old man turned to him with 
moistened eyes. 

^^I’ll try,” he meekly promised, ‘^I’ll try to do 
just what you said — arise and go to the Father.” 

A long silence followed ; the shadows of twi- 
light deepened, until the dusk in the quiet room 
was only brightened by the glowing coals in the 
grate. 

Presently Grandfather Groves spoke. ^^Be 
you going to church to-night?” he asked. 

John started from the revery into which he had 
fallen. I think so,” he said. Wliy do you 
ask ? ” 

Because,” was the hesitating answer, I be- 
lieve, if you’ll take me, I’ll go with you. You 
don’t think me too old to go in the evening, do 
you ? ” 

No, the church is very near.” 


CONFIDENCES. 


265 


^^And you wont be ashamed of the poor old 
man, an^ his plain clothes ? 

‘^Ashamed ! John answered quickly. Grand- 
father, if you will go, I shall feel that God has 
highly honored me in letting me lead you there.^’ 
The old man heard him with a brightening 
face. That^s good,^^ he said with energy. “ You 
are very good to an old man,^^ he continued grate- 
fully. “ ^Taint every young man would do as 
you have done this afternoon, I know ; IVe had 
sperience. They say the young don^t never lose 
by being kind to the old, an^ I wish I might pay 
you in some way, some day. Do you s’pose I ever 
will?^^ 

John lit the gas, and then gave him a genial 
smile. I shall be paid in knowing that I can 
give you pleasure,’^ he said kindly. 

The gray head nodded as it bent above the cane. 

IM like to pay in some other way,^^ its owner 
said slowly. Well, we shall see; we always do 
what we are appointed to do, I s’pose.’’ 

John turned suddenly. The slow, dreamy 
words recalled those other words, read long ago 
that Christmas eve, and then the old man said : 
Mister, it’s very strange, but someway, as you 
stand there now, you make me think of that gen- 
tleman — it is so strange I can’t recall his name — 
the one who was so good to me; where Susie 
lived, you know.” 

23 


266 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Do I ? John answered. I am glad if I 
remind you of a friend/^ but he added quickly, 
with a little dread of his visitor becoming excited 
again: ^^You haven’t told me if you will really 
go with me this evening.” 

Yes, I will go/’ was the decided answer, ^^an’ 
after this I will go every Sunday, as long as you 
will take me.” 

Grandfather Groves kept his promise ; and 
the sight of the strong, fine-looking young man, 
gently supporting the trembling steps of the old 
man, became one that the regular attendants of 
the Church of the Strangers ” learned to watch 
for with peculiar pleasure, and one that the angels, 
who rejoice over each sinner that repenteth, wit- 
nessed with thanksgiving. 


CHAPTER XV. 


CONVERSATIONS 


** We yet shall see how, while we frown and sigh, 
God’s plans go on as best for you and me ; 

And how he heeded not our feeble cry, 

Because his wisdom to the end could see. 

And e’en as prudent parents disallow 
Too much of sweet to craving babyhood. 

So God, perhaps, is keeping from us now 
Life’s sweetest things, because it seemeth good.” 


FEW days after his conversation with 


Grandfather Groves, John found himself 
at leisure to fulfil his long-postponed, but un- 
forgotten promise, and call on Mrs. Scott. 

It was a lovely Indian-summer day ; there 
was no chill in the air, and no frost seemed to 
have touched the salvias and chrysanthemums 
that were still blooming in the beautiful gardens 
he passed on his way up town to the attractive 
suburb of the- city where the Scotts resided. A 
carriage stood before their house, and as he placed 
his hand on the bell the door opened, and Mrs. 
Scott in her bonnet and wraps appeared before 
him. 


— 3Irs, Riley, 



( 267 ) 


268 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Mr. Millington/^ she exclaimed, in a pleased 
"voice, ^^you are more than welcome. And now,’^ 
she asked in a moment, will you accompany me 
on a short drive, and then return and dine with 
us to-night? I was only going/^ she explained, 
to Miss Talbot’s, but, if you prefer, I will send 
the carriage away, and we will remain at home.” 
By no means,” John answered. This is such 
a beautiful day that I am sure you would enjoy a 
drive, Mrs. Scott, and I am at your service. To 
me it will be a pleasure to do whatever you 
please.” 

Come then,” Mrs. Scott said, as she ran down 
the steps, one can talk in a carriage as well as in 
a parlor, and out-door air, like this, is something 
like faith — one cannot have too much of it.” 

Some people would say it was like money in 
that particular,” John said playfully, as he assisted 
Mrs. Scott into the carriage, and took his seat 
beside her. 

She smiled. Do you really think the world 
as sordid as vour words seem to denote?” she 
asked. Well, perhaps some people would say 
so, and, in a certain, peculiar sense, I believe 
they would be right: for one who is willing to 
use it for good ])urposes cannot often have too 
much wealth. The gold of this world is a ]>ower~ 
ful agent in doing the Lord’s work, Mr. Milling- 
ton ; our charitable societies, and the missionary 


CON VERS A TIONS. 


269 


boards, that are so often crippled for want of it, 
will assure us of that/^ 

“I know it,’’ John said thoughtfully, ^^and 
yet, since that is true, this question often presses 
for an answer, Mrs. Scott ; Why does not the 
Lord, who owns the silver, and the gold, and the 
cattle upon a thousand hills, pour his wealth into 
the hands that would rejoice to do his work with 
it? Why are the selfish, grasping hands often 
filled to overflowing, while the generous hands, 
that would deliglit in giving, are often left poor, 
even to emptiness, and seldom bountifully supplied 
with the riches that they would make blessings 
for others, as well as for themselves? ’’ 

Ah ! ” Mrs. Scott answered, with a little sigh, 
^Hhat is one of life’s mysteries, Mr. Millington. 
Perhaps — for one reason — it is to teach us that 
silver and gold are not, after all, as important in 
our Lord’s sight as in ours. He is not dependent 
upon them, and though where he bestows them 
he requires them to be used freely in his service, 
he proves his independence of them, often, by 
blessing the efforts of empty hands, and giving 
the highest success to their labors.” 

^^That is a pleasant thought for those whose 
hands' are empty,” John said, but still, Mrs. 
Scott, the wasted wealth of this world does 
often seem appalling. It is not money alone, but 
intellect, health, affection, and even life itself 

23 ^ 


/ 


270 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


seem often recklessly squandered. I have thought 
much about it during the last day or two/^ he ex- 
plained, for Sunday an old man confronted me 
with this sharp question : ‘ To what purpose is 
this waste ? ^ And though my faith whispered 
that it must be for wise purposes, I confess 
my reason was silent. It was a mystery I could 
not explain.^^ 

Reason and sight are well, but faith is better, 
Mrs. Scott said gently. That alabaster box was 
not wasted, Mr. Millington. It filled the house 
with its fragrance.’^ 

I grant it,^^ John replied gravely, and yet — 
shall I confess it? — there are times when this 
world seems very full of broken alabaster boxes, 
exceeding precious, of which I can only ask this 
question : ‘ To what purpose is this waste? ^ 

^^Not when they are broken at the feet of 
Christ,’^ Mrs. Scott said softly. 

‘^No — I suppose not — he answered, ^^and 
still — though we acknowledge that — it is hard to 
understand. Think of the wasted affection in 
this world, Mrs. Scott. Think of the pure, true 
hearts, that are lavishing their priceless love 
on those unworthy of it, and then think of the 
other hearts that are pouring it forth on those, 
who, though worthy of it, still give it no return. 
Is there not sorrowful and even fearful waste 
there ? 


CON VERSA TIONS, 


271 


Mrs. Scott studied the grave face that was 
partly turned from her for a few moments, and 
when she spoke there was a tender cadence in her 
voice, as if it was touched with a sympathy she 
dared not express in words. 

I would not called it wasted,^^ she said ; ^^it 
is suffering, and only God, who knows how painful 
it is, can comfort it; but the love of a pure, true 
heart is never wasted, though often unreturned : 
you see its results often in the helpful, healing 
influence that such a heart exerts wherever it 
goes.^^ 

The serious and almost sad face with which 
John had asked his question brightened a little, 
‘but his voice was still tinged with pain and, 
it might be, a shade of doubt, when he spoke 
again. 

Here is another question, Mrs. Scott : why 
are noble lives, standing just upon the threshold 
and well prepared and equipped for conflict and 
labor in the world, often stricken down suddenly? 
the fire, that promised to burn so brightly, and 
give out such cheering warmth, going out without 
warning, and leaving only the ashes of disappoint- 
ment behind 

Mrs. Scott did not answer, and after a brief 
silence John resumed. 

Only yesterday I read of the death of a 
missionary in India. He was young — but thirty- 


272 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


two — finely educated, and wonderfully adapted 
for his chosen work. After arduous study he had 
just acquired the language, so as to preach and 
write in it with ease ; he had formed plans for 
service that promised great results, and all his efforts 
to promote his Master’s honor seemed to be meeting 
with rich success. It was a beautiful beginning, 
but the shadow fell, and all was ended. To-day he 
sleeps beneath the trees of India, and, thinking of 
liim, can you help wondering at the Lord’s deal- 
ing? Is it not natural to cry: ‘To what purpose 
is this waste ? ’ ” 

“Yes, it is natural, very natural,” Mrs. Scott 
said, in a low tone, “ but, Mr. Millington, if that 
young man could speak to you to-day from the 
Father’s house, where he is now rejoicing, he 
would not echo your question ; he would not feel 
that his was a wasted life. He has but finished 
his labor at midday — instead of waiting till the 
sunset — and gone up higher. To what nobler, 
freer, more triumphant work, we can only imagine 
now, but we shall understand fully, when, like 
- him, we, too, go home.” 

“ But the work he has left,” John urged ; “ think 
how that will suffer from his loss.” 

“Will it? Are you sure?” Mrs. Scott asked, 
with a beautiful smile, though her eyes were 
misty. “ Can you not trust the Lord to care for 
his own, Mr. Millington? Christianity did not 


CONVERSA TIONS. 


273 


die when Paul finished his course; it will never 
die so long as Christ lives. 

* feel as if we were losing precious time, Mr. 
Millington. You have told me nothing yet about 
yourself, and there is much I want to know. I am 
sure you are well — and her eyes smiled as she 
looked at him — but I am sure of nothing else ; of 
nothing, at least, that touches the surface of your life. 
Tell me — if you please — what are you doing now?’^ 
Studying,^’ he answered pleasantly. ^^In a 
year, if you require my services, Mrs. Scott, 
I will plead for you in the court-room. 

Thank you,’’ she said, I appreciate your 
kindness; but I shall try not to require your 
skill. Shall I tell you, that I am a little sorry 
about your choice of a profession?” she asked 
frankly. I do not think I could ever have 
chosen it for you, though I acknowledge that it 
is grand to maintain the integrity and majesty of 
God’s laws, and good men can do good work in 
any field. But,” she added, returning to the 
matter-of-fact conditions of every-day life^ in 
which she was evidently interested, ^^you have not 
told me how and where you are living now.” 
^^That information is easily given,” John an- 
swered ; and as he spoke he handed her his card. 

She looked at it with serious eyes. ^^Are you 
comfortable there?” she asked. Pardon me, 
but it is a very j^oor part of the city.” 

s 


274 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


I am perfectly comfortable/’ he said, with a 
smile. ^‘The neighborhood is respectable, Mrs. 
Scott. That it is also poor is an advantage rather 
than the reverse for me. Where all are on an 
equality there is less temptation to covetousness.” 
She shook her head, and with eyes that ex- 
pressed dissatisfaction looked down and studied 
again the bit of pasteboard in her hand. 

Mr. Millington,” she said, ^^you must pardon 
me if I presume too far, but you can hardly un- 
derstand how great my interest is in your welfare. 
Your mother” — and she gave him the old sad 
smile, that seemed to John sadder than tears — 
may care as much. I doubt, sometimes, if she 
can care more. And now, that you know this, 
will you let me ask what I shall appreciate as a 
great kindness of you ? ” 

Gladly,” he said earnestly; ^^you cannot ask 
too great a kindness, Mrs. Scott.” 

Ah ! you say so, because you are ignorant of 
the nature of my request,” she answered, with 
some hesitation. fear your pride, Mr. Mill- 
ington, and still I am going to brave it. You 
are studying hard, and when one is studying I do 
not think one ought to be burdened with anxious ^ 
cares about dollars and cents.” 

She watched his face closely while she spoke. 
He flushed a little at her last words, but did not 
attempt to interrupt her, and she continued slowly : 


CONVERSA TIONS. 


275 


you let me — so far as I can — play the 
part of a good fairy in your life, Mr. Millington? 
Will you let me — as far as is in my power — re- 
lieve you of all anxiety about your every-day ne- 
cessities? Remember,’^ and her tone was sad and 
entreating, remember, I am rich, and I have no 
son.’^ 

Tears he had no cause to be ashamed of filled 
John Millington’s eyes. Involuntarily he stooped 
and kissed the trembling hand that still held his 
card. 

^^Dear Mrs. Scott,” he said gratefully, can- 
not thank you, but I do assure you that I am not 
too proud to accept kindnesses from you, and — - 
believe me — I would accept this one, if it was 
necessary, but indeed it is not.” 

She looked at him wistfully. wish you 

would let me be the judge of the necessity,” she 
urged. 

He smiled, threw back his shoulders, and drew 
himself up proudly. 

Look at me,” he said brightly. Dear Mrs. 
Scott, what should I do with all my superfluous 
strength, if you removed from me all necessity 
for exerting it ? ” 

She could not help returning his smile, but her 
next words showed that she was still dissatisfied. 

In what gold mines — beside your books — are 
you dealing now ? ” she asked. 


276 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


find proof-reading and copying as remu- 
nerative as I desire/^ he answered. . Dear 
Mrs. Scott/^ lie added, believe me; between my 
salary last year, and what I am able now to do in 
hours that would not otherwise be half filled, I 
liave enough for all my reasonable wants. As for 
my unreasonable wishes, I am sure you will 
agree with me that it is best they should remain 
unsatisfied.^^ 

ISIrs. Scott remained very thoughtful for a few 
moments. woman seldom argues success- 

fully with a lawyer,’^ she said, playfully, then. 

But, Mr. Millington,’^ she gently insisted, will 
you give me one promise? If you find that you 
are taxing your strength too far, or if any emer- 
gency occurs in which friends can aid you, will 
you come at once to Mr. Scott and myself?” 

He gave the promise; and, though his thanks 
were briefly spoken, she knew they came from a 
full heart, and with them she was forced to be 
content. 

Have you heard from Miss Selwyn lately?” 
she asked, as the carriage approached Miss Tal- 
bot’s door. 

Not since last Christmas,” he answered qui- 
etly. 

Then, of course, you are not aware that she 
is now visiting Miss Talbot?” 

He started a little, but his voice was unchanged, • 


CON VERSA TIONS, 


277 


she?^^ he asked. shall be glad to see 

lier.^^ 

Mrs. Scotty made no reply, but when a few 
minutes later they entered Miss Talbot’s parlor, 
and that young lady and Ruth came forward to 
meet them, she watched John’s face with anxious 
eyes, but it told her nothing. 

Ruth’s greeting was simple, sincere and unaf- 
fected, like herself. Miss Talbot was animated^ 
talkative and inquisitive, according to her wont, 
and John was pleasant and quiet, with the unfail- 
ing courtesy of — as Macdonald so beautifully 
calls them — ^^the manners of the high country.” 

There was no foundation, Mrs. Scott decided 
soon, for the unwelcome thought that had flitted 
into her mind, and she gladly dismissed it. The 
young girls were to go home with her for the 
night, and, feeling that he could give himself the 
])leasure without neglecting his books or other 
duties, John gratefully accej^ted her pressing in- 
vitation to return and dine with them. 

It was early evening when they reached the 
house. Mr. Scott was already at home, and his 
welcome of John was warm and friendly, and 
‘ touched with the same deep interest as had 
marked his wife’s a few hours before. 

I was beginning to fear you had forgotten us, 
Mr. Millington,” he said, as he shook his hand, 
or else were so engrossed with your studies that 
24 


278 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


you could find no time for us. Books are for- 
midable rivals sometimes, don’t you think so, 
Euthie?” and he turned with a smile to the 
young girl, who was standing near them. 

Ruth looked a little embarrassed, and John said 
quickly: Books can never fill the place of liv- 

ing friends, Mr. Scott.” 

you think so? Well, I trust you always 
will,” that gentleman answered. Hearts are 
poor things, I think, when they can prefer musty 
folios to warm and living humanity. But come 
with me to the library, Mr. Millington; we do 
not dine for an hour yet, and we will leave Mrs. 
Scott and the young ladies to amuse themselves 
awhile, for 1 want a little quiet talk with you.” 
Very willingly John followed the true and no- 
ble man — whose friendship was indeed something 
to be proud of — and sat down by his side in the 
beautiful room, where pictures, marbles, bronzes 
and rare books in costly bindings told of wealth, 
and culture, and refinement. 

That Mr. Scott, like his wife, was his sincere 
friend, John could not doubt; but he was greatly 
surprised when, after a few indifferent remarks, 
that gentleman touched upon the same subject 
Mrs. Scott had already discussed with him. 

I have no son, Mr. Millington,” Mr. Scott 
said, in a grave and earnest tone, and for the 
sake of one who might have been to me all that I 


CONVEUSA TIONS. 


279 


can well believe you are to your father, as well as 
for your own sake, I would be glad to assist you 
now.’’ 

^^It does assist me,” John said warmly, ^^to 
feel that I have such friends as yourself and Mrs. 
Scott. Pecuniary aid I do not need ; but it makes 
the world seem very warm to know that so many 
in it are watching my course with interest.” 

Mr. Scott reached forward suddenly, and ex- 
tended his hand. ^^With how deep and true an 
interest we are watching it, I cannot tell you,” he 
said solemnly. Go your way, Mr. Millington. 
I will not urge you to comply with my wishes. I 
admire the manly independence that is strong to 
rely upon itself, because, at heart, it leans with 
childlike dependence upon God. But remember, 
if at any time I can serve you, you may command 
me — to even more than half of my kingdom,” he 
added, with a smile. 

Just then the ring of the door-bell announced 
a new-comer, and a few minutes later Mr, Thorn, 
accompanied by the ladies, entered the library. 

‘^Ah, Millington, well met,” he said genially. 

Coming events must have been casting their 
shadows before, for I have been thin kino: of you 
all day.” 

That’s a compliment I hazard nothing in as- 
serting that Mr. Millington cannot return,” Miss 
Talbot said playfully. 


280 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Don’t be too" sure/’ Mr. Thorn returned. 

There are some friends, Miss Talbot, who are 
never out of our thouglits.” 

It is an open secret wlio those ^some friends’ 
are,” Miss Talbot said daringly, as Mr. Thom 
turned from her to speak to Ruth. 

John heard her words, and his eyes followed 
hers. He saw Ruth’s blushes and half-embar- 
rassed n:ianner, and noticed the air of gentle def- 
erence wdth which Mr. Thorn addressed her, and 
then he resolutely turned away. He would not 
dwell upon the bitter thoughts that had been sug- 
gested to liim, he sternly resolved; but just then 
Mrs. Scott came to his side, and Miss Talbot said, 
in a tone full of meaning: 

What do you think of our two friends over 
there, Mrs. Scott?” 

‘‘Very well of both of them,” Mrs. Scott an- 
swered pleasantly. 

“Is your piano in good tune?” Miss Talbot — 
like Tennyson’s brook — ran on — “ if it is, I think 
I will practise the Wedding March this evening, 
for already I hear wedding bells in the distance.” 

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Scott asked, in a 
serious voice. “You do not mean that there 
is” — 

“Any engagement between them?” Miss Tal- 
bot interrupted, with a careless laugh. “Well, I 
am not exactly the confidential friend of either of 


CON VERSA TIONS. 


281 


them, but I flatter myself that — tliougli I am not 
the wizard of Cnlloden — I can see the sliadow of 
coming events — as. Mr. Thorn would say — pretty 
clearly.’^ ^ 

Mrs. Scott^s face grew very grave ; her eyes 
rested a moment longer on Ruth and Mr. Thorn, 
^ and then they slowly turned and fell on John. 

lie had heard Miss Talbot’s words; but if the 
smile with which he met Mrs. Scott’s gaze was a 
trifle less bright than usual it was free from all 
bitterness, and throughout the evening, if his 
spirits were not high, they were sweet and genial, 
and if there was a pang in his heart, it was known 
only to his God. 

Throue:hout the evenino; Ruth seemed to avoid 
him, but a short time before he left she crossed 
the room and came to his side. Mr. Milling- 
ton,” she said gently, it is a long time since you 
were in Hancock ; do you mean never to visit the 
place again ? ” 

Is ever is a long day,” he answered, as he 
offered her a chair with the pleasant request, Sit 
down, if you please. Miss Selwyn. I certainly 
hope sometime,” he explained, to revisit Han- 
cock, but I cannot, at present, give that sometime 
a certain date.” 

‘^But that is just what I want you to do,” Ruth 
said, with gentle insistence. Papa would be 
delighted to see you, and as for Aunt Phillis, like 


2'82 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

Whittier’s singers, she would think the day o’ 
jubilee fairly here if she" should once more see you 
in her kitchen.” 

The grave eyes with which John was watching 
her flashed with something of their old light. 
^^Some day,” he said pleasantly, perhaps the 
jubilee and I will come together. Miss Selwyn.” 
Will you let me appoint the time, then?” 
she asked. In ten days Thanksgiving will be 
here. Will you come then ? ” 

What made John, as he watched her, feel that 
Thanksgiving was one of the last days on which 
lie wished to visit her? I cannot,” he said, in 
a decided and almost stern voice. 

She looked pained. I am very sorry,” she 
said simply. 

Her tone recalled him to the facts of that pass- 
ing moment ; and it did more ; it awakened the 
sweet, unselfish spirit that would rather suffer 
than cause pain. If it would truly please her to 
have him visit Hancock, then he would do so. It 
mattered little that for him, in the visit, there 
would be more pain than pleasure. 

I intended spending Thanksgiving at Hermits- 
ville,” he hastened to explain, but I shall have 
some time at my disposal then, and I will leave 
its ordering with you. Will you have me on 
Thanksgiving or the Sunday after?” And he 
smiled cheerfully as he waited for her decision. 


CONVERSA TIONS. 


283 


Ruth thought a moment. If I say Sunday, 
^vilI you come up on Friday night, and give us at 
least two days?^^ she asked. • 

If you wish/^ lie answered quietly. 

Then so be it/^ she decided, and with unaf- 
fected pleasure she added, Mr. Millington, you 
do not know how glad my tidings will make papa 
and Aunt Phillis.’^ 

The smile that answered her was touched with 
many memories, but pleasure at her pleasure 
brightened it, and Ruth saw that, and nothing 
more. 

One more conversation John was destined to 
have that night. 

We go down town together, I believe, Mill- 
ington,’’ Mr. Thorn said, as they bade their 
friends good-night and left the house, and I am 
glad, for I want to talk with you. Do you know 
what I have been thinking about lately?” 

Do I know the latest decree of fashion?” 
John answered lightly. Mr. Thorn, I am sorry 
to say I do not.” 

Nonsense,” Mr. Thorn said hastily. Do 
you really think my thoughts as trivial as your 
words intimate, Millington ? Then you will, per- 
haps, be surprised to hear that I have had a great 
many serious meditations since the Christmas holi- 
days at Solitude, and I have wakened up to the 
fact that if I am ever to fill a man’s place in the 


284 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


world, and do a man’s work, and have”- — witli a 
little pause after the last word — ^^a man’s reward, 
I ought to be about it.” 

I quite agree with you,” John said quietly. 

You are more truthful than complimentary,” 
Mr. Thorn said, with a nervous laugh ; but, if 
you agree with me, I hope you will also approve 
of my decision. I am rich, Millington — don’t 
tliink me boasting, I am simply stating a fact — 
and I tell you because I want you to understand 
that, though work is not a necessity for me, I 
begin to consider it a duty, and so — I am going 
to work.” 

am glad,” John said sincerely. What are 
you going to do ? ” 

Study medicine, I think; with the foundation 
already laid I can study that, and graduate in two 
years. I am anxious now to get through, be- 
cause — you' must know, Millington — there is 
something I want very much, that I do not want 
to wait for.” 

A silence followed. They were walking; and 
on under the clear, star-lighted heavens they 
tramped for awhile without a word ; but pres- 
ently John spoke, and if his voice was grave, it 
was free, as his thought, from all bitterness. 

Mr. Thorn,” he said, am glad you are 
going to work. I believe you have chosen your 
profession wisely. I trust you will succeed in it. 


CON VERSA TIONS, 


285 


and be an honor to it, as well as win honor from it. 
There is need of but one thing more to make you 
worthy of the reward you seek. My friend, the 
noblest manhood, the highest honor, is only 
reached by those who rejoice in being the servants 
of Christ. In his name, for his sake, if’’ — with 
a tremulous accent on the last words — if not for 
liers, I pray you now be reconciled to Christ.” 

Mr. Thorn hesitated. Millington,” he said, 
in a voice that showed how deeply John’s earnest- 
ness had touched him, Millington, I believe in 
yon, I appreciate your sincerity, and I must tell 
you I am not as sure as you think of — anything. 
I have great hopes; I trust they will be realized; 
and, some day, if I live, perhaps, I may become a 
Christian. When I see you, I am tempted to 
believe in Christianity.” 

John gave his hand a convulsive grasp. We 
part here,” he said. Good-night. God b]ess 
you.” 

For one moment, without speaking, the two 
men stood with clasped hands. Then they parted. 
Mr. Thorn soon reached his home, and soon, in 
pleasant dreams, forgot all serious impressions ; but, 
for a long time after he left him, John walked and 
thought, and the sky was pink with sunrise when 
he entered his quiet room. But when he did so, 
he had fought his battle, and won the peace they 
only know who come like Christian to the cross. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


PUZZLES. 


** Father, how can I thus be bold to pray 

That thou shalt grant me that or spare me this ? 

How should my ignorance not go astray, 

How should my foolish lips not sj)eak amiss 
And ask for woe when fain they -would ask bliss? 

‘‘Just as thou wilt, is just what I would will : 

Give me but this, the heart to be content. 

And if my wish is thwarted to lie still, 

Waiting till puzzle and till pain are spent. 

And the sweet thing made plain which the Lord meant/’ 

— Susa7i Coolidge, 


RUE to his purpose^ Thanksgiving morning 


found John in his old home in Hermits- 
ville, Mr. and Mrs. Millington had grown old ^ 
and gray with the years, but their adopted son still 
kept his place in their hearts. 

In the course of his long life, old Mr. Milling- 
ton had done many things for which his neighbors 
respected him ; but the one act, on which he re- 
flected with the most unalloyed pleasure, was the 
kindness he had bestowed, in his childhood, on the 
young man to whom he could now look up with 
such pardonable pride. And as, with the far- 



( 286 ) 


PUZZLES, 


287 


sighted vision of an old man, he looked forward 
and proudly anticipated what he would become, it 
was with thankfulness, as well as with satisfaction, 
that he remembered that he had been instrumental 
in moulding and developing his character. 

The Millington children were all mature men 
and women now, and all married, with happy 
children growing up around them ; and when, on 
that Thanksgiving day, at the family reunion, 
John saw three bright-eyed boys, who were 
proudly introduced to him as his namesakes, he 
understood, more fully than ever before, how 
warm a place he had in the affection of his 
adopted brothers and sisters. And while they 
looked up to him with a pride and admiration 
that owned and gloried in his superiority, he, in 
his noble humility, fervently prayed that he might 
prove always worthy of their confidence and love. 

Thanksgiving day was spent with the Milling- 
tons. Friday was claimed by Mr. Crosby, and 
late on Friday afternoon John started for Han- 
cock. Both Mr. Millington and Mr. Crosby ac- 
companied him to the station, and while chatting 
])leasantly with them, in the last few minutes 
before parting, John’s eyes fell on a grizzly, rough- 
looking man, who seemed watching him intently. 

Something about the man arrested John’s atten- 
tion, and for a moment he wondered if he had ever 
seen him before : but then the train came rushing 


288 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


lip and, in the excitement of bidding his friends 
good-bye and securing his seat, he lost sight of 
tlie stranger and quite forgot his existence. 

The train had been moving several minutes, 
and with his mind absorbed in thoughts that were, 
perhaps, a trifle sadder than Thanksgiving day 
warranted, John sat looking from the window, 
with dreamy eyes that saw little of what was 
passing before them, when some one took the seat 
behind him, and in a moment a hand was laid, 
with some hesitation, on his shoulder. 

In great surprise John turned, and saw the’ man 
lie had noticed in the station, looking at him still 
in that curious, intent manner. 

You be the young man that used to be the 
boy called John Millington, aint you?^^ the 
stranger asked. 

Yes,’^ John said calmly, I was, and am, John 
Millington.’^ 

thought so; I knowed your face. Faces 
tell strange things sometimes, don’t they now?” 
And the man looked more keenly than ever’ at 
John. 

I hope mine tells the truth,” John answered, 
while he tried vainly to imagine who his strange 
questioner was. 

^^It tells the truth, I b’lieve,” the man said 
slowly ; if only we can make the folks it most 
concerns b’lieve it too, it will be all right.” 


PUZZLES. 


289 


What do you mean ? John asked earnestly. 

Who are you? Will you tell me if I ought to 
know you ? 

, ‘‘ You haint as good a memory as I have/^ the 

man said, with a grim smile. I s’pose you\^e for- 
got the time when you got lost in the woods, aint 
you ? an’ you aint no recollection of the man that 
brought you home, I s’pose, now, have you ? ” 

In his excitement John sprang to his feet. The 
wood-cutter, whom for years he had dreamed of 
finding, was there before him. Had he anything 
to tell him? if he had, what would it be? 

John held his breath as he asked himself those 
questions, then resumed his seat, and became out- 
wardly quiet and calm as usual. He comprehended 
fully how much might depend upon the conversa- 
tion of the next few minutes, and lie firmly resolved 
that he would learn now all the man could tell him, 
and whatever the story he would bear it, in the 
strength he trusted God would give him. 

^^Yes, I remember you well now,” he said 
quietly. I have wished often to see you, and I 
am glad at last to meet you again. Will you tell 
me your name ? ” 

Yes, I can tell you mine easier than you can 
tell me yours,” the man said, in a curious voice. 

Mine’s no secret ; it is F rancis Sharp. Now, one 
good turn deserves another, they say, so s’pose 
you tell me yours.” 

25 


T 


290 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


You know it already/^ John answered, in the 
low, quiet voice, that by a great effort he forced 
himself to maintain. 

P’raps I do,” the man said slowly, still, I 
aint certain. You aint really John Millington, 
be you, now ? ” 

John hesitated. I know no other name,” he 
said calmly, in a second. 

No, more’s the pity ; that’s true, you don’t,” 
his strange acquaintance answered. ‘^But maybe 
you will some day ; we’ll see, we’ll see.” 

John waited impatiently. Francis Sharp ap- 
peared to have fallen into a deep study, and, if he 
had anything of importance to tell, he was plainly 
in no haste to communicate it. 

Whatever you know, or think you know of 
me, I shall be grateful if you will tell me,” John 
said at last. 

‘‘Yes, so I will,” Francis Sharp answered. 
“ But it will take time — take time — an’ I must 
feel my way.” 

“ How do you mean ? ” John asked desperately. 
“ Do you want money ? ” 

“No, no,” Francis Sharp said, with a gleam of 
anger in his eyes; “I want nothin’ but justice; 
justice, an’ certainty.” 

John crushed, with stern resolution, the fierce 
impatience that was threatening to master him. 

“Justice from whom?” he asked calmly. 


PUZZLES. 


291 


Francis Sharp gave him another keen look, 
want no justice done to me/^ he said with 
energy. “It^s justice I want to do — justice I 
vowed to domore’n twenty years ago; justice Fve 
been trying to do every day of my life ever since.^^ 
Was the man insane? John began to think so. 
Will you tell me, plainly, what you mean?’^ 
he asked, in a kind voice. 

will, soon as I can; soon as I see all things 
clear, and know there aint no mistake, the man 
answered. 

An^ now,^^ he said, after a moment’s silence, 
if I ask you some questions, will you promise 
fair to answer them ? ” , 

John grew pale, but he promised firmly, Yes.’^ 
I only ask ’em for your own good,” Francis 
Sharp said, as he watched him. Now, first, you 
aint no Millington really, be you?” 

No.” The bitter truth was acknowledged in a 
low but firm voice. 

‘^You was brought to Hermitsville when you 
was a baby, wasn’t you ? an’ a strange woman left 
you at Mr. Millington’s, didn’t she?” 

Was she my mother? John longed to ask, but 
his lips refused to utter the words, and he could 
only say huskily, Yes.” 

knowed it, I knowed it,” Francis Sharp 
said, in great excitement. I knowed it when I 
was here afore. Oh ” — and the strano:e man 


292 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


fairly groaned — oh, it’s dreadful to think of the 
years that have been lost without justice bein’ 
done ! ” 

Perhaps they have not been lost,” John said, in 
a voice that grew calmer, as the certainty that some 
important revelation awaited him became plainer. 

You don’t know,” Francis Sharp said, with a 
sigh, you don’t know nothin’ ’t all about it. You 
see,” he went on confidentially, I’ve been look- 
in’ for you ever since she took you off. The 
detectives giv’ up, but I didn’t giv’ up, an’ at last, 
once when she seemed kind of sensible like, I got 
a clue and that brought me to Hermitsville when 
you was a little boy. I got a place to cut wood, 
an’ I said nothin’ to nobody, but I watched all the 
boys, an’ ’mong ’em all I picked out you. That 
day you came to the woods I knowed you, and 
when you went to sleep I studied your face, an’ 
then I felt sure as I was livin’ that I wasn’t 
wrong. I knowed I couldn’t be, for the likeness 
was too strong. I went right off then, but I 
couldn’t find the folks I wanted, an’ so I come 
back and cut wood till late that summer, and 
then, jest about the time you went to school, I 
started agin. You’ve got that picture, I giv’ you 
then, safe, aint you ? ” and he waited anxiously 
for John’s answer. 

Yes,” John said, and though he longed to say 
more, he could not. 


PUZZLES, 


293 


Keep it safe/’ F rancis said earnestly, When 
she left you, did you have anything on that could 
be a kind of clue like, you know?” 

I have a necklace.” 

^‘Hey? what ?” Francis said quickly. ^^Well, 
keep it safe, keep it safe. It will tell yet; yes, it 
will tell.” 

But when,” John asked breathlessly, when 
will it tell?” 

^^When I’ve found them,” Francis said, with 
solemn confidence. You see,” he continued to 
explain, '^Svhen I left Hermitsville that first time, 
I went straight to the old home. I meant to 
bring ’em right back with me, but they were 
gone ; they’d sold the place, an’ they were trav- 
elling — been travelling for years, all over creation, 
I b’lieve. Well, then, you see, I went back to 
Hermitsville, and I used to think nights what I 
should do, and when I went away that last time 
I started to foller them. I’ve follered era’ here, 
an’ I’ve follered ’em there, and once I crossed the 
ocean after ’em, but I was always too late, always ” 
— with a heavy sigh — ‘^jest too late,” 

^^Why didn’t you write?” 

I aint no letter writer, an’ I didn’t knjow 
where to send a letter, no better than ‘I knew 
where to go myself, an’_besides, I wanted to tell 
my story in my own words,” Francis said, reveal- 
ing in that explanation the obstinacy that had 


294 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


kept him faithful to his search, and, perhaps, at 
the same time, caused it to fail, by making him 
unwilling to accomplish his purpose in any way 
but the one he had at first decided upon. 

^^Who are the people you are looking for?’^ 
John asked now. 

^‘Yoifll know; you’ll know when I’ve found 
them,” Francis said earnestly. don’t want to 
, raise no false hopes, but I’ve got a clue now. I 
jest wanted to make sure where you was, an’ so I 
came to Hermitsville to-day. I’ve found you, an’ 
now I’m going after them. Don’t you run away 
nowhere; an’'you let me know where to find 
you when I want you. You don’t live in Her- 
mitsville no longer, do you ? ” 

^‘No; in the city. Take this card; it will tell 
you where to find me.” 

Francis thrust the card into his pocket. 

Be you going to stay long where you are 
going now ? ” he asked. 

No, only till Monday.” 

Francis nodded approvingly. ^^I can’t say 
jest when I’ll want you,” he exclaimed, but 
when I do, you must be ready. If I can find 
them, an’ make them b’lieve me, it will all be 
right, and then ” — with a long drawn breath — 
will have done justice, an’ I’ll be satisfied.” 
^‘Wont you tell me whom you want to find?” 
John entreated once more. 


PUZZLES, 


295 


Francis Sharp shook his head. It aint best/^ 
he said. ‘^Nothing’s sure. Maybe they wont 
b’lieve me, an’ I can’t raise no false hopes; you 
keep right on at your duty, an’ when it’s all clear 
I’ll come for you.” 

^^Tell me one thing, I beg you,” John pleaded, 
in a low and anxious voice. That woman — was 

she — was she — my mother?” 

^‘You don’t like to b’lieve she was, do you?” 
Francis Sharp said shrewdly, but ’’—and his 
voice grew very gentle and even sad — she’d 
have been a good mother, if the trouble hadn’t 
come. I’ll always say that.” 

The train slackened just here. They were ap- 
proaching a station at which another train bound 
for the city was waiting. Francis saw it from the 
window. 

I’ll stop here,” he said hastily. I’ll go 
right back to the city, an’ foller my clue; but 
you keep on to where you was going. I don’t 
want you yet. Good-bye,” and in another mo- 
ment the trains, that had met for an instant, 
separated, and Francis Sharp returned to the city, 
while, in a strangely confused and troubled state 
of mind, John went on to Hancock. It was dark 
when he arrived there. Almost enough be- 
v/ildered to doubt his own identity, he stepped 
from the car and tried, by giving himself a vig- 
orous shake, to recall his scattered senses. As he 


296 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


did SO a familiar voice spoke his name, and, 
looking up, he saw Professor Selwyn and Ruth 
standing near and plainly waiting for him. 

Their smiling faces, and the grasp of their 
warm hands, restored him to himself. With 
stern resolution he put Francis Sharp and his be- 
wildering communication out of his thoughts, 
and gave himself up to the tranquil pleasures of 
the present moment. 

Little was changed in Professor Selwyn’s home. 
Aunt Anna looked at him critically an instant, 
greeted him in her quiet, matter-of-course manner, 
and then resumed the knitting, that seemed as 
much a part of herself as her hands. But if the 
Avelcorae he received in the parlor was an indif- 
ferent one. Aunt Phillis’ enthusiastic reception 
made ample amends. 

^AVell, Massa John,” she said joyously, ‘^you 
just have done improved the years, an’ no mis- 
take. You went away a boy, an’ you’ve come 
back a man. And a good man, too, 1 hone?” 
Her black eyes looked at him inquiringly. 

I’ve tried to be good. Aunt Phillis.” 

I’s satisfied.” And Aunt Phillis went on 
with some elaborate preparations for su})per. 

Them that tries is always helped. I knowed 
you wouldn’t be let to fall.” 

Fall from what, Aunt Phillis?” Ruth asked, 
with a hint of mischief in her voice. 


PUZZLES. 


297 


^^You go long, child; you’s a Presbyterian, an^ 
I^m a Methodist. But it don^t make no matter, 
after all, what we calls ourselves, for the Lord 
will keep his own. Aint Miss Ruth growed, 
Massa Jolin ? And the faithful servant looked 
with pride on her young mistress. 

^^Yes; your kitchen must miss the little girl we 
used to see here, Auntie.^^ 

^spect it does,^^ Aunt Phillis said soberly. 
‘‘But then, you see, IVe only had the fust taste 
of the missin,’ Massa John. I ^spect this whole 
liouse will miss her some day, for she’ll be goin’ 
afore long, I calk’late, to make somebody else’s 
liome happy.” 

Ruth turned quickly. “We’ll come and see 
you again. Aunt Phillis,” she said kindly, and 
without another word she led John back to her 
father’s study. 

Through all the next day Professor Selwyii 
claimed John’s time. He saw little of Ruth, and 
he half-fancied that she did not care to be with 
liim ; but on Sunday evening she suddenly pro- 
posed visiting Aunt Phillis, and together they 
went down to the kitchen. It was clean, and 
bright, and pleasant, just as John remembered it 
in other years, and Aunt Phillis, as she sat in her 
chintz-cushioned rocker, with her Bible, was so 
little changed, that for a moment he felt inclined 
to believe the years that had passed since he sat 


298 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


there with lier were all a dream, and he glanced 
at Kuth, half-expecting to see again the sunny- 
haired child who had made his boyish life so 
bright. But one glimpse of the smiling face 
Ruth just then turned towards him dispelled that 
illusion, and wdth a suppressed sigh he took the 
chair Aunt Phillis offered him and waited for her 
to speak. 

‘‘ Massa John,’’ she said soberly, be you goin’ 
to be a great man some day ? ” 

He smiled a little. I have received no reve- 
lations to that effect, auntie,” he said pleasantly. 

I know,” she said wisely, the future don’t 
never tell its secrets aforehand ; but I think you 
will be, an’ when you are a great man, Massa 
John ” — and the humble voice grew low and soft 
— ‘‘ I hope you will be a consecrated man.” 

I hope so too, he answered gently. It is 
what I pray to be every day. Aunt Phillis.” 

Ruth had listened with a thoughtful shadow on 
her young face. Do you know,” she said, a 
little shyly, ^^it always makes me shrink to hear 
people talk of consecration.” 

Does it? Why, Miss Ruth ? ” ^ 

I don’t know — quite — ” she answered slowly ; 
but consecration seems to me often only another 
name for suffering. One has to give up and re- 
nounce so much.” 

^^Have you no faith in the beautiful law of 


PUZZLES, 


299 


compensation?’’ John asked quietly. on the 

one side there is renunciation, on the other there 
are blessings beyond our richest dreams.” 

Ruth looked at him a moment, and her lips 
parted, as if more than one question was waiting 
to be asked ; then her expression changed, she put 
her hand in her pocket and brought out a scrap 
of paper. 

found this the other day,” she said, ^^and I 
cannot tell you how often since I have found my- 
self repeating it. Listen, Mr. Millington,” and 
in a low voice she read : 

“ ‘ Child of mine, I love thee, 

Listen now to me, 

And make answer truly 
AVhile I question thee. 

‘ Thou hast craved my power 
And presence in thy soul. 

Wilt thou yield thee truly 
Unto my control ? 

“ * Wilt thou let me ever 
' With thee have my way? 

Yield thyself in all things 
Simply to obey ? 

‘ When I give to others. 

What I thee deny. 

Flood them with my sunshine, 

Wholly pass thee by, 

‘‘ ^ Wilt thou still believe in 
My strong love for thee ? 

Yield thee to my purpose, 

Whatso’er it be ? 


300 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


The low, sweet reading ceased, and a deep si- 
lence pervaded the quiet room. Aunt Phillis was 
not looking at them, but on her open Bible, and 
with his elbows on the table before him John sat 
with his head resting in his hands, in the old boy- 
ish attitude in which Ruth had seen him often sit 
when studying. 

Mr. Millington, she asked softly, could 
you say, yes, to those questions? 

He raised his head. She did not know with 
what humility he had been searching his heart 
during her reading; she little dreamed how 
much of life’s sunshine he felt he would be 
forced to renounce ; but she felt the deep sincerity 
of his voice, as he answered simply : 

Yes, Miss Ruth.” 

^^And you are not afraid to walk in the 
shadow?” she asked again. Remember, -the 
sunshine may wholly pass you by.” 

It may,” he said gravely, but. Miss Ruth, 
there is such a thing as walking through the 
valley of humiliation, and yet having a sunshine 
— brighter than ever illumines this world — all 
the way.” 

Her own eyes fell then. It is the gloom of 
that valley that frightens me,” she confessed, 
and it seems as if the angel of consecration has 
always to be the angel of sorrow. The best peo- 
ple are always the ones to suffer most. Why 


PUZZLES, 


301 


does it have to be?’^ and she looked appealingly 
at John. 

I do not know tliat it does have to be/^ he 
answered gently. I think God sends the angel 
of comfort always hand in hand with the angel 
of sorrow; and the work of sorrow is something 
like the work of the sculptor^s chisel, Miss Ruth : 
it liberates the imprisoned beauty of the soul, and 
crowns it with immortality. Have you ever read 
of the wonderful wind-flower of South America ? 

No/’ she answered. 

^‘It grows upon the plains of South America/’ 
Jolm quietly explained; ^Hhe flower is very 
lovely, and of the purest white, but it has this 
wonderful peculiarity” — and the smile that 
curved John’s lips was touched with the beauty of 
his thought — “ it is only visible when the wind 
blows. At all other times the rough, spike-like 
leaves close like a sheath over the beautiful 
flower, and keep it closely concealed.” 

Can you read my parable. Miss Ruth?” 
John asked, when, after several minutes, Ruth 
still remained silent. 

She looked at him very humbly. ^^You think 
sorrow does for the soul, what the wind does for 
that flower,” she said thoughtfully. 

‘^Sorrow that God sanctifies and blesses,” he 
answered. ^AV^e should never know how beauti- 
ful some hearts are, if the shadows of pain did 
26 


302 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


not sometimes darken them, and the winds of 
trial blow over them/^ 

Children/^ Aunt Phillis said, now, chil- 
dren, while youVe been talkin’ parables I’ve 
been thinkin’ of my Testament, And now. I’ll 
jest tell you what I’ve learned; it aint so much 
what God gives or takes from us, but it is what 
God commands us, that we must think of, if we 
would be consecrated.” 

^AVhat does he command. Auntie?” Ruth 
asked. 

^^This,” Aunt Phillis slowly answered. 
says — Come unto me — and then we leave the world. 
Pie says — Take my yoke — and then we leave the 
doing of our own wills. He says- — Learn of me 
— and then we sit down in his school, to study his 
lessons. And then, honey” — and Aunt Phillis 
looked lovingly at Ruth — we aint afraid no 
longer, and we grow — content.” 

Inhere were tears in Ruth Selwyn’s eyes. She 
asked no more questions of Aunt Phillis, but that 
night, in the silence of her own room, she read 
again her little verse, and once more asked her- 
self this question : 


‘ When I give to others 
What I thee deny, 

«r J 

Flood them with my sunshine, 
Wholly pass thee by, 


PUZZLES. 


303 


‘ Wilt thou still believe in 
My strong love for thee ? 

Yield thee to my purpose, 

Whatso’er it be ? ^ 

There was a struggle in the young girl’s heart, 
known only to herself and to her Maker ; but, 
when it ceased, she, too, could answer ; 

^^Yes.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

$ 

DISCOVERIES. 

*‘If we could push ajar the gates of life, 

And stand within, and all God’s workings see, 

We could interpret all this doubt and strife, 

And for each mystery could find a key. 

But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart ; 

God’s plans,. like lilies, pure and white, unfold. 

We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart; 

Time will reveal the calyxes of gold.” 

— Mrs, Riley, 

on Monday morning John returned 

^ to the city. Whatever causes for secret 

anxiety and unrest he had, he resolutely con- 
trolled, and, throwing himself with renewed ardor 
into his work, he tried to leave all troublesome 
matters in the hands of him who alone under- 
stood them and could alone explain them. 

At first he daily expected a visit from Francis 
Sharp; but when a fortnight had passed, and 
brought no tidings from, or of, that strange man, 
the fancy that had crossed his mind in the car re- 
turned with increased force, and he accepted the 
maifs insanity as a fiict no longer to be ques- 
tioned. Even with that admission, many things 
(304) 


DISCO VERIES, 


305 


seemed mysterious, but they were mysteries of 
which God held the key. When the glad day 
of revelation came they would all be made plain. 
Comfort and strength came with that thought, 
and if John^s face grew graver, his faith, at the 
same time, grew stronger for the discipline that 
was testing it. 

He was sitting one afternoon in his room, busy, 
as usual, with books and papers, when some one 
gave a quick, impatient knock on his door, and 
on opening it, to his great surprise, he faced Mr. 
Tliorn. 

^^Well, Millington,^^ that gentleman said, as he 
walked into the room and threw himself, with a 
despondent air, into the chair John offered him, 
^^one might almost as easily climb to an eagle’s 
eyrie as get up here to you. I hope you appre- 
ciate the effort I’ve made to reach you.” 

Perhaps I shall be better able to appreciate 
it, when I know the reason for it,” John an- 
swered, with a smile. 

Mr. Thorn scanned liim a moment with gloomy 
'eyes. What a trick you have of bringing a 
man directly to the point,” he said. I hope I 
will never be a witness you will have to exam- 
ine.” 

^^What do you want me to do now?” John 
asked playfully. 

‘‘ Want ? I am sure I hardly know. If you 

U 


306 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


could examine me, and find out what I am good 
for, and for what purpose — in the economy of 
nature — I was created, I would be glad. But I 
don’t suppose even your wisdom is sufficient to 
throw light on a question as occult as that.” 

John’s lips opened suddenly and then closed 
firmly. Without a word he pushed his books 
and papers aside, and calmly waited. 

Mr. Thorn watched him with a smile, expres- 
sive of more bitterness than pleasure, ^^Yoii 
are true to your profession ; you won’t give a man 
any more voluntary information than you are 
compelled to give, will you?” he said grimly. 
^‘'Well, Millington, it doesn’t matter much 
whether vou answer me or remain silent ; I have 
come to tell you my trouble — though why I do so, I 
can not explain, even to myself — and” — with sudden 
and emphatic energy — I will tell it. Millington, 
a week ago I sent a letter to Hancock. I received 
an answer to-day. I threw it into the fire, and 
wished I could throw myself after it. There — 
now you know all.” 

Through that brief recital John’s face had 
grown very pale. Now, when Mr. Thorn ceased, 
he neither stirred nor spoke for several moments, 
and when, at last, with an evident eflfort, he forced 
himself to speak, it was only to ask : 

Can I do anything for you ? ” 

If you cannot, then no one can,” Mr. Thorn 


DISCO VEBTES, 


307 


said desperately. liaven’t faith in many, but 
I do believe in you. Millington, I am terribly 
disappointed. I never had any encouragement. 
I had no right to hope — and yet, I did hope; and 
now — my hopes, like my letter, are nothing but 

dust and ashes. I have tried the world. I have 

/ 

never found it very satisfactory — it will be less so 
than ever in future ; and now — if there is, as you 
affirm, any comfort and satisfaction in religion, I 
want you to help me to find it.^^ 

^^How am I to do that?^^ Jolm asked gravely, 
as he turned now and looked, with serious but 
kind eyes, at his visitor. 

Convince me that the Bible is what it pro- 
fesses to be; convince me that Christ is what you 
assert him to be.^^ 

By argument? 

suppose so.^^ And Mr. Thorn settled him- 
self as if for a long conversation. 

I cannot, my friend. You have been brought 
up in a Christian family. You have been under 
the preaching of a Christian pulpit. Words will 
do you no good. You have resisted them all 
your life — you will resist them still. 

^^Then, what am I to do?^^ Mr. Thorn asked, 
in a tone almost of despair. 

Begin with doing God^s will,^^ John gently, 
but firmly advised. 

When I am not sure that I believe in him ? 


308 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Quietly John reached for liis Bible and opened 
it. Here is the promise/^ he said^ in a moment : 
any man will do his wil!^ he shall know of 
the doctrine.^ 

Slowly John read the sacred promise, and then 
closed the book. 

Tliat is Christ’s own promise/’ he said gravely. 

I cannot give you better or different directions. 
Mr. Thorn, you have never studied your Bible; 
search it now — not with the spirit of a doubter, 
looking for difficulties, but in the spirit of an 
luimble learner, willing to be taught. You have 
never prayed. Pray now, and humbly intreat, if 
there is light, to be guided by the Spirit into it. 
Self has always had your first and best service. 
Begin now to practise the laws of Christ, and 
serve God and your neighbor; and, if you do so, 
you will not long ask any man to convince you of 
the truth of the solemn facts, you now doubt. 
This promise will be fulfilled ; you will have the 
witness in your own heart, and with Peter you 
will say to your Saviour : ^ I believe, and am sure, 
that thou art the Christ, the Son of the living 
God.’ ” 

John paused, and the silence lasted until the 
last sunbeam had left the little room, and the 
shadows warned that night was coming. Then 
Mr. Thorn arose. 

Millington,” he said, as he took John’s hand 


DISCO VERIES, 


309 


and held it fast, I came to you in desperation, 
I am going away to follow your advice. It seems 
reasonable that obedience should be the pathway 
to peace, and if light and comfort are to be found 
in this life, they are surely worth seeking for. 
Good-bye, and remember — and the young maif s 
voice choked now — whatever good comes to you 
in the future, I shall wish you only joy 

There is little more to be told of Mr. Thorn in 
this story, but perhaps the angels will have more 
to tell, when they relate the stories of the lives 
they have watched on earth. 

Three years later John stood on the wharf of a 
far-off western city, watching an ocean steamer as 
it glided slowly out of sight. Two figures stood 
upon its deck. Good-bye,’’ he shouted, and 
softly across the rippling waters the same sad 
word was wafted back to him. 

Going out as a medical missionary and taking 
his wife with him, is he?” said a gentleman, who 
stood beside John. Well, medical service in our 
mission stations offers a great field of labor to 
any Christian physician. I hope your friend will 
meet with great success, and receive as great a 
reward.” 

I ho23e so, too,” John answered fervently, and 
\ve will echo his last words, as, with him, we 
catch our last glimpse of Mr. Thorn and Miss 
Talbot. 


310 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


December was well on its way now : the Christ- 
mas holidays were again approaching, and one 
day — not long after his interview with Mr. 
Thorn — John found, on returning from the law- 
school, two letters on his table. 

One was from Mrs. Rolfe. The Scotts, and 
Miss Winthrop, and Miss Selwyn, were to brighten 
Solitude again with their presence during the 
holidays, she wrote; and she not only kindly in- 
vited, but urgently entreated John to make one 
of her party. 

Where her eloquence failed, she said, in conclu- 
sion, she trusted her boys’ would prove irresistible, 
and with a smile John took up the other letter, that 
was directed in Will’s round, boyish hand. 

*‘Dear Mr. Millington [John read] : Jack and I are 
■writing this letter together. I am to do the writing, and 
Jack is to spell the hard words and think of what I forget, and 
so I guess— between us — we will make out to tell you every- 
thing we want you to know. 

‘‘The holidays are almost here, and we are so glad that we 
don’t know how to tell it. I suppose we might find words 
enough in the dictionary to tell it with, but then the dictionary 
is such a big book, and I don’t believe it will make any differ- 
ence, for you were a little boy once ; and so, if you’ll just play 
you were one again, you will know what we mean. 

“We’ve been at boarding-school three months, and we don’t 
like it very well. There are rules for everything, and so it’s a 
great deal more certain than tutors, but then, too, it is a great 
deal harder. You see the lessons are long, and we have to study 
very hard to learn them ; and the rules are strict, and we have 
to try very hard to keep them, and even when we try hardest, 
it does seem very easy to break them. 


DISCOVERIES. 


311 


But Friday night, if nothing happens — and nothing will 
happen — we are going to shut our books with'a BANG — Jack 
says, print that word in large letters, ’cause we want you to 
know just what a loud bang it will be — and we are going home 
fast as the cars can carry us. And now, Mr. Millington, we’ll 
tell you why we are writing this letter. Jack and I want you 
to spend Christmas at Solitude with us. 

** We want you for almost as many reasons as there are plums 
in mamma’s Christmas pudding. We want you to skate with 
us, and ride horseback with us. We want you to examine us, 
and see if we haven’t improved, and then we want you to advise 
us and help us to be good. For Jack and I do try to be good 
boys, tliough sometimes it does seem as if this was a pretty hard 
world for boys to be good in. 

“ Hoping for a prompt reply, in person, we remain, Mr. Mill- 
ington, Your very obedient servants, 

‘‘Messrs, Jack and Will Rolfe. 

“ P. S. We copied that signature from a business card, so we 
guess that’s right; but if we have made any mistakes in this 
letter, we hope you will excuse them, for you will know what 
we mean.” 

The boys^ eloquence proved, as Mrs. Rolfe had 
hoped, irresistible, and the Saturday before Christ- 
mas — which this year came on Monday — John 
went down to Solitude. Warm hearts welcomed 
him there, and the first few days passed very pleas- 
antly, but uneventfully, and the last Saturday of 
the old year dawned. 

That day proved a very dreary and stormy one ; 
going out, for pleasure, was not to be thought of, 
and in the course of the morning Miss Winthrop 
suddenly proposed to Jolm to assist her in exam- 
ining Mr. Rolfe’s library. 


312 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


It has been accumulating for years/^ slie said ; 

Rolfes have always been book-lovers, and, 
though I have never had a good opportunity to 
look it well through, I believe it will richly repay 
us if we do so to-day. So come, Mr. Millington, 
and let us see if we cannot find some old manu- 
script worth reporting to the world.’^ 

Very willingly John acceded to her wishes. 
The library was the largest room in the house, 
but from the floor to the ceiling it was crowded 
with books, and papers, and precious works of art. 
One corner was especially devoted to files of old 
papers. 

Looks almost like a newspaper office, doesn’t 
it?” Miss Winthrop said laughingly. ‘Lifter all, 

I believe it is a wise plan to put papers on file 
in this way. Questions often arise on which old 
papers, if we had them to refer to, might throw a 
good deal of light. Now,” she said, as she pro- 
ceeded to examine a certain file, “ here are papers 
that date back for a quarter of a century, and, just 
for the gratification of my never-satisfied curiosity, 

I am going to see what the City Mirror so many 
years ago found worth reporting. 

John was already examining a very rare edition 
of Shakespeare, but he looked up with a pleasant 
smile. 

“Few possess old Shakespeare’s art, and know ' 
liow to select from the incidents of daily life those 


DISCO VERIES, 


313 


that will be of interest through all the ag;Gs/’ he 
said, but I hope your search will be rewarded by 
the discovery of something well worth remember- 
ing. What date have you ? 

‘^Oh, it’s a June paper, twenty-three years old 
next summer,” she said, as she sat down and pro- 
ceeded to open the old paper as if she intended 
really to read it carefully. ‘‘ I was young then, 
and many pleasant things happened in those days. 

I am going to see if the scent of the roses hangs 
round those old memories still.” 

‘‘ Do you want my help in your labor of love?” 
John asked pleasantly. 

“ No,” she answered, with a laugh. I am at 
least equal to giving a newspaper an examination, 
and, I can assure you, I always do it thoroughly ; 
even advertisements never escape my eyes. 

Whew ! ” she exclaimed, in a few moments, 
with almost a whistle of astonishment ; it is a pity 
that some one else didn’t examine this paper thor- 
oiighly years ago.” 

Dfd you speak to me?” John asked, without • 
raising his eyes and so absorbed in his book that 
he had only heard the sound of her voice, with- 
out heed in O' her words. 

O 

She stared at him for a minute, as if her senses 
were wandering, then turned again to her paper, 
read over a few lines in it with great care, and 
then once more looked at John. 


27 


314 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


Mr. Millington/^ she said presently, in a 
quick, excited voice, ^^your home is in Hermits- 
ville, is it not ? 

‘^Yes,’^ he answered quietly; ^Mt is a pleasant 
place; were you ever there. Miss Winthrop?^^ 
No,^^ she said, with seriousness. It’s a 
great pity, but I never was.” 

If you should ever go there, I think you 
would feel well repaid,” he said, with his eyes 
still on his book. 

She looked at him again, with a peculiar ex- 
pression on her thoughtful face. 

Many a careless word is touched with a 
meaning of which the speaker little dreams,” she 
said, as she folded her paper. No,” she added, 
more to herself than to John, as she left the 
room, I have never been to Herrnitsville ; 
that is true to-day ; but if I live, it will not be 
true much longer.” 

Quickly — in an excited state of mind, that she, 
by a great effort, succeeded in keeping well sub- 
dued — Miss Winthrop went up-stairs to Mrs. 
Rolfe’s room. 

^^Are you here, Emma, and are you alone?” 
she asked cautiously, as she opened the door, 
A^All alone,” Mrs. Rolfe answered, with a 
smile, and very glad to see you, Annie.” 

You ought to be,” Miss Winthrop said oracu- 
larly. Everybody in this house ought to be, 


DISCO VERIES. 


315 


and would be, glad to see me, if they knew what 
I believe I know now/^ 

I have been glad to see you for a great many 
years, just because I did not know all that you 
know,^^ Mrs. Kolfe answered playfully. 

“W e are talking nonsense, when the fate — of a 
life — perhaps, depends upon our being sensible, 
Miss Winthrop said, with impatience. Erama,’^ 
she continued, very seriously, ^^see here; I have a 
secret to tell you, but you must remember that it 
is only a surmise at present, and you must prom- 
ise not to lisp one syllable of it until I have 
proved it a certainty.’^ 

Mrs. Rolfe nodded, and Miss Winthrop went 
on. 

IVe been looking over the old papers in the 
library, and IVe found — she broke off suddenly 
and looked solemnly at Mrs. Rolfe — ^Vvhat do 
you imagine I have found she asked slowly. 

Positive proof as to who wrote the Letters 
of Junius, possibly,’^ Mrs. Rolfe said, with a 
laugh. 

I have found positive proof — at least, what I 
believe to be positive proof — about somebody a 
good deal more interesting to us than the author 
of Junius,^^ Miss Winthrop said, with decision. 

Read that, Emrna;^^ and she handed Mrs.' 
Rolfe the paper, and pointed to a short paragraph 
on a page filled with advertisements. 


316 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


With a smiling face, that quickly changed 
first, to an expression of great surprise, and then 
to one of intense interest, Mrs. Rolfe took the 
paper and slowly read : 

Information wanted of the woman who left a 
young child at my house on the seventh of June. 
Any information of her, or of other friends of the 
child, will be thankfully received by Charles 
Millington, Hermitsville, New York.^^ 

^AVell,^^ Miss Winthrop said, as Mrs. Rolfe 
dropped the paper and looked at her in almost 
blank astonishment, what do you think of that, 
Em ma ? 

It — is — mys — terious,’’ Mrs. Rolfe, after sev- 
eral attempts, succeeded in feebly ejaculating. 

Mysterious ? — It is as clear as sunshine to 
me, and it wont be mysterious to you, or any one, 
long, after I have succeeded in getting to Her- 
mitsville,’^ Miss Winthrop declared with energy. 

think we have all been blind as bats, Emma; 
too blind even to read the newspapers when they 
were opened before our eyes.^^ 

^AVhat shall we do?’^ Mrs. Rolfe asked 
anxiously. - 

Do nothing until I come back or send you 
word from Hermitsville,^^ Miss Winthrop coun- 
selled. ^AVe wont raise any hopes that would 
only kill if they proved false; but I will start for 
Hermitsville this very night, and I do believe 


DISCO VEEIES, 


317 


— and Miss Winthrop seized the paper, and 
scanned the advertisement again, as she spoke — 
I do firmly believe, Emma, that I am on the 
right trail at last/^ 

^^It will not do to be too sanguine,^^ Mrs. 
Eolfe said soberly. that Millington is the 

man we suppose, he is a farmer with a large 
family of children. Do you suppose such a man 
would keep, or indeed could afford to keep, a 
little waif, and bring it up as his own child 

I suppose he knew that he could well afford 
to do God’s will,” Miss Winthrop answered. 
^^You need not try to dishearten me, Emma, for 
I have not a doubt; everything points that way. 
That wonderful resemblance, that impressed me 
the moment I saw him ; his ae:e — he told me ves- 
terday that he was born just twenty-three years 
ago, on Cliristrnas; that motto, Tenax propositi — 
how did he come by that, I want to know, if he 
is not what we think him ? And then that strange, 
mysterious attraction that they seemed at once to 
feel towards each other — do you think there 
was no meaning in that? We never pay the 
attention that we ought to the drawings and 
repulsions of our souls, and now it makes my 
heart ache” — and the excited woman clasped her 
hands in despair — to think what blind and deaf 
mortals we have been.” 

‘‘ You see — if it is as we hope — it was his speak- 

27 ^ 


318 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


ing of his parents that misled us all/^ Mrs. Rolfe 
now said, thoughtfully. 

Just as if, in all our lives, we never had heard 
of adopted children who talked of their fathers 
and mothers,’^ Miss Winthrop answered, almost 
angrily, Well, there is one consolation ; he will 
be an honor to them now, and in the joy of seeing 
him the man he is, they may find a little comfort 
for the years they have missed and mourned him. 
But we won’t say one word about this, Emma” — 
she repeated again — until I have made an inves- 
tigation ; and if you will give me my lunch, and 
send me to the station. I’ll start on the afternoon 
train.” And as she left the room, to make her 
arrangements for an immediate departure. Miss 
Winthrop once more said, emphatically, do 
believe I am on the right trail at last.” 

^^Oh, Miss Winthrop,” Buth said, when a 
minute later she met her in the hall, on the way to 
her room, ‘‘1 was just coming to see you.” 

a Were you?” Miss Winthrop said^ as without 
stopping she hurried on. am sorry, my dear, 
but you must excuse me. I have some important 
business to attend to, and must work instead of 
talking. But,” she added, as she turned her door- 
knob, I wish you would do something for me : I 
left the newspapers in the library in great disor- 
der, I wish you would go there and put them on 
the file again.” 


DISCO V FRIES. 


319 


^^Very well/^ Ruth said cheerfully, as she 
tripped down-stairs. ^ 

She hesitated a little, however, when, on opening 
the door of the library, she saw John sitting there 
alone. ^^Miss Winthrop sent me,^^ she said, in 
some embarrassment, as he looked up and saw her. 

Come in. Miss Selwyn/^ he answered pleas- 
antly ; ^^you must not think me selfish enough to 
wish to monopolize this beautiful room. I hope 
you have had a pleasant morning, though it is so 
dreary without,^^ he added, as she came up to the 
table by which he was sitting. 

I have been with the boys,’^ she said^ with a 
business-like air, as she proceeded to arrange the 
papers. What do you think I left them doing. 
Air. Alillington ? 

He laughed. , You might almost as well ask 
me to tell you what they will be doing a year 
from to-day as what they are doing now,^^ he 
said. It is pretty difficult to follow the work- 
ings of a boy^s mind, or body, when he is out of 
your sight.^’ ^ 

^^Just at present,’^ Ruth answered gayly, ^^they 
are working their minds ; and I left them trying, 
through all the changes in English history, to 
trace Queen A^ictoria’s family back to William 
the Conqueror.^’ 

I hope they were succeeding,^^ John said, with 
a smile, meant more for Ruth than the boys. 


I 


320 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

I am not sure/’ she said laughingly, They 
were getting pretty well bewildered in an ancestral 
labyrinth^ and, when I left them, Will had just 
declared, that the House of 'Brunswick was a good 
deal harder to trace than the House that Jack 
Built. What a fascination there is in tracing 
ancestry, isift there, Mr. Millington?’^ 

Seems to be, when it’s a queen’s,” John 
answered lightly. 

Until did not reply; she was busy with the 
papers, and the library was very quiet for a few 
moments. Suddenly, moved by some impulse — he 
did not stop to trace it to its source — John asked : 
What do you suppose those do who have no 
ancestors. Miss Selwyn ? ” 

cannot possibly imagine such a pitiful state 
of affairs for any poor human being,” she said, 
with a merry laugh. 

He looked at her an instant, and then very 
gravely he answered, Try to do so, for it is my 
state.” 

Yours ? ” The play and light faded suddenly 
from her face; the lips that had been curved with 
a happy smile straightened and were tightly com- 
pressed. Yours?” she repeated. 

have no ancestors to tell of,” he said, in a 
very firm and quiet voice. I have no family. 
I do not know who my parents were. I do not 
even know my own name,” 


DISCOVERIES, 


321 


She looked at Iilm witli an expression of utter 
bewilderment. I cannot understand/^ she said, 
in a puzzled tone. I thought Mr. and Mrs. 
IMillington — 

They protected me when I was a helpless and 
deserted infant/^ he gravely explained, as she 
paused. They have been kind as parents, and 
I have always called them father and mother. 
But they are only adopted parents. Of my own 
]>arents I know nothing ; I am absolutely ignorant 
of my own history. 

lie had told his story quietly, and without look- 
ino; at her. He wished her to know the truth. 
He expected it would startle and shock her, and, 
it might be, sadden her a little, for he knew her 
thought of him was kind and friendly, but he 
expected nothing more. 

But even while he was speaking, Euth left her 
scat, and now she stood close beside him. 

With sober eyes he turned and looked at her. 
Her slight figure was drawn up to its full height; 
her proud head was thrown back, her cheeks were 
flushed, and her eyes were flashing with a brilliant 
light. 

Mr. Millington,’^ she said, and her clear voice 
was at once very sweet and very proud, Mr. 
Millington, I do not pity you. I am almost glad 
you have no family. I am thankful you have 
had no props to support you, save your God and 


322 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


yourself. I am proud that you have proved how 
indepeudeut a man can be of circumstances. I 
think it is grand to show the world, as you have, 
liow noble, how full of dignity the man can be, 
wlio — though he has no external helps — rests upon 
• God, and with a whole heart does his duty. I 
think it is a greater honor to be such a man than 
to be a king.’^ 

John’s face had flushed and then grown very 
pale during Kuth’s impulsive speech, and now, 
prompted by a secret, untold pain, he said, Such 
a life must be a very lonely one. Miss Ruth.” 

Lonely!” she repeated, still too impulsive, 
and too anxious to comfort him to consider her 
words ; I do not think you can be lonely, when 
you make every one love you.” 

He had not meant to ask it, but now the im- 
petuous question sprang to his lips ; 

V 

Do I — can I make — ^}^ou ? ” 

There came no answer ; the color faded a little, 
and the proud head drooped : he saw it, but he 
did not understand. 

^^If I cannot, my life must always be lonely,” 
he said sadly, as he half turned from her. 

She looked up then, and her sweet face was 
stirred with many feelings. 

never knew — I never dared to hope — you 
cared for me so much,” she said simply. 

May I tell our friends ? ” Ruth asked a little later. 


DISCO VEltlES. 


323 


✓ 


^^Tell whom you please/Mie answered proudly. 

I feel, myself, very much like publishing to all 
the world that I have found a treasure. Only^’ — 
and the bright voice sobered a little — it may be 
years before I can claim that treasure. I must 
not let you forget, dear, that I am very poor, as 
well as nameless.’^ 

With the soul that made her womanhood so 
royal shining in her eyes, Ruth Selwyn looked at 
him. 

I am not afraid,^^ she said, almost solemnly. 

We can wait, and I can work with you.^^ 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


AT LAST. 

“ The good, the better, and the last the best; 

This is the order of the Master’s wine. 

I 

More than the yesterdays to-days are blest, 

And life’s to-morrows may be more divine.” ' 

— Good Words » 

M uch to Miss Winthrop^s annoyance, on 
that eventful Saturday, Mrs. Rolfe soon 
brought her word that she could not possibly 
reach the station in time for the train that after- 
noon. 

I hope I have art enough to assume a virtue, 
and appear patient,’^ she said, after hearing Mrs. 
Rolfe’s unwelcome tidings; ‘^but really, Emma, 
I have more sympathy for a caged lioness to-day 
than I ever had before.’^ There was, however, 
no help for her ; she was obliged to submit to the 
inevitable and remain at Solitude over Sunday. 

Monday was the first day of the new year, but 
the gray clouds threatened a storm, and, fearing a 
deep snow, the whole party returned to the city 
that morning, and that very afternoon Miss Win- 
throp hurried to Hei'initsville. 

( 324 ) 


AT ZAST 


325 


f 


She found Mr. Millington^s house without diffi- 
culty, and, as soon as she saw its^owner, without 
prelude she made known her errand. 

‘^Twenty-three years ago next June,^^ she said, 
“a little child was left in your care. What and 
where is that child tonlay ? 

Mr. Millington surveyed her coolly. “So 
yoifve come for him at last, have you he said 
brusquely. “Well, it does appear to me, ma^\m, 
that youVe been a long time on the way.^’ 

“ Man,^^ M iss Winthrop cried, “you don^t sup- 
pose I am that woman, do you ? 1 have been 

trying to get on her trail through all these years, 
and now I want you to tell me everything you 
know about that child, and, if the facts are what 
I believe, we will soon put him where he belongs, 
and make hearts that have long been sorrowful 
sing for joy.’^ 

Very gladly, after he had told his story and 
heard Miss AVinthrop’s, Mr. Millington consented 
to accompany her to the city. His joy amounted 
almost to exultation, and he confided to his wife 
that he wished the day was the Fourth of July, 
and he himself a boy again, with a pocketful of 
fire-crackers, for it would be a great satisfactioif 
to give vent to his feelings in an explosion. 

That same Monday afternoon John, with a heart 
full of glad content, returned to Ids humble room. 
He felt very strong for work now ; happiness had 
28 


326 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


quite put Francis Sharp out of his mind, and the 
j)ositive good, within his grasp, seemed too great 
for him any longer to speeulate upon possibilities, 
or sigh for the unattainable. 

Grandfather Graves met him in the hall. With 
a pleasant word John passed him and entered his 
room, but a little to his surprise the old man fol- 
lowed him. 

‘‘I’m glad you’ve come back. I’ve something 
to tell you,” he said mysteriously. “He’s been 
here.” 

“ He, who ? ” 

“Francis, Susie’s husband. He’s cornin’ again 
soon. An’,” he added, as if telling an important 
secret, “ I know that name now.” 

“ What name ? ” 

“ The name of the rich man where we all lived. 
It’s come back to me; seein’ Francis brought it 
back. It was Scott.” 

“ Scott ! ” John ejaculated, and even as he spoke 
a heavy step stumbled through the hall, and the 
next moment Francis Sharp stood in the open 
door.. 

“ I’ve come,” he said. “I’ve found you agin 
at last, all along of him,” and he pointed to 
Grandfather Graves; “it pays to be kind to the 
poor — when you are rich, don’t you forget that.” 

“ What do you mean ?” John asked. 

“I’ll tell you,” Francis answered, “but it must 


AT LAST. 


-327 


be in a few words, for time’s j^i’^cious. I’d have 
been here afore, but I’ve been sick an’ in the hos- 
pital, an’ while I was there I lost your card, an’ 
I’d depended on that ; an’ so I’d forgot your street. 
An’ then, when I got better, I says to myself, it’s 
all to be done over; I’ve got to look him up agin, 
an’ it really began to seem to me that life was 
nothing but a game of hide-and-go-seek. But 
first, ’fore I looked for you,. I thought I’d come 
here and see him,” and Francis nodded kindly at 
the old man, who nodded back with an expression 
of intense delight on his wrinkled face. An’ he 
had the \vonderfulest stories to tell me of the 
lodger who was so good to him, an’ when I asked 
his name, lo and behold, it was you. I might 
have spent weeks lookin’ for you if it hadn’t been 
for him, but now,” and Francis came close to John 
and laid his hands on his shoulders, now I’ve 
found you, and I’ve got the clue all straight, and 
now I want that picture I giv’ you, an’ the neck- 
lace you said you had.” 

John hesitated. Francis had asked for the 
most precious things he possessed. To give them 
up might be to resign forever his only hope and 
chance of finding his family; and what warrant 
had he for placing them in that strange man’s 
hands ? 

While 1 le was considering what to do, Francis 
watched him with eyes as sharp as his name. 


328 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


Yon neednH be "afraid to trust me/^ he said 
slowly. I want nothin^ but justice. Maybe I* 
could do it without ’em, but they’ll make it easier: 
they’ll tell. An’ when I go to them I ought to 
give ’em some proof ; you know, I can’t ask ’em to 
believe me without no evidence. You’ll trust 
me, won’t you?” and he looked appealingly at 
John. 

Yes,” John said firmly, I will,” and unlock- 
ing his trunk he took out a small box. Francis 
grasped it with hungry hands. ‘^You won’t 
never regret it,” he said, an’ early to-morrow 
you’ll see me agin,” and without more words he 
hurried off. 

Early the next morning Francis Sharp ascended 
the steps of Mr. Scott’s house and rang the bell. 

Be the master an’ the mistress in ?” he asked 
of the servant who answered the bell, and without 
waiting for her reply he continued : I want to 

see them ; I’ve important bizness with them.” 

The servant carried his request to Mr. Scott, 
and in a few moments, by that gentleman’s order, 
Fruncis was shown into the sunny room where he 
sat reading to Mrs. Scott. 

With a slow, hesitating step, Francis came near 
and eyed Mr. and Mrs. Scott with an expression 
not only critical, but doubtful. 

Well, my man,” Mr. Scott said kindly, ^Svhat 
can I do for you ? ” 


329 


J T LAST, 

^\ancls SIlarJ)^s doubtful expression changed to 
one of glad certainty. 

I know the voice/^ he exclaimed quickly. 
It is all right. IVe got the straight clue. 
Master/^ and he bowed low to Mr. Scott, don’t 
you remember me? I’m Francis Sharp.” 

‘^Francis Sharp,” Mr. Scott echoed; ^^can it be 
possible !’•’ 

Yes, it be possible,” Francis said, as he 
dropped into a chair that stood near, and taking 
out his handkerchief wiped his face nervously; 

it be possible, though many’s the time it’s seemed 
to me it never would be possible. I’ve followed 
you here, an’ I’ve followed you there,” he ex- 
plained hurriedly, ^^an’ sometimes it has seemed to 
me we was just playing at seesaw, for as often as 
I went up you was sure to be gone down, and vice 
versa,’’ 

Why did you follow us, Francis?” Mr. Scott 
asked, with an anxious glance at his wife. What 
dovouwant?” 

I want justice, nothin’ but justice,” Francis 
answered, with vehemence. Ma’am ” — and in 
a softened voice he turned to Mrs. Scott, who was 
watching him with a colorless face — Ma’am, 
twenty-three years ago, come next June, a great / 
trouble came to you, and came through mine and 
me. I vowed tlien, ma’am, that, if I lived, I 
would do justice yet, an’ I’ve come this morniu’ 


330 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


jest to prepare you, afore I bring some one here 
you’ 11 be gladder to see than me. But first — ’cause 
I want all things to be certain an’ sure — will you 
please look at this, ma’am, and jest say if you 
know it.” And, opening the little box with an 
iinsteadv hand, Francis took out the necklace and 
dropped it in Mrs. Scott’s lap. 

He waited only to hear the one low cry, O 
my baby ! ” and saying, It’s all right, ma’am ; 
I’ll be back soon,” he rushed from the house, and 
in a moment, before any one thought to detain 
him, he was out of sight. 

An hour or two later, as Mr. Millington and 
M iss Winthrop stood before the door of the house 
in which John lodged, a rough-looking man came 
up and joined them. 

Good-mornin’, sir,” he said to Mr. Milling- 
ton, after a moment’s sharp inspection ; ain’t 
you the man that had the boy folks ’call John 
Millington ? ” 

Yes,” Mr. Millington answered. 

I thought so. I’ve seen you afore in Hermits- 
ville. I’m the woodcutter, Francis Sharp.” 

Francis Sharp! ” Miss Winthrop cried; ^Gvhy, 
what are you here for ? ” 

I’m here to do justice,” he said solemnly. 
^^And,” he said, as Miss Winthrop continued to 
look sternly at him, you have the advantage of 
me, ma’am. I don’t seem to know you” — with 


AT LAST 


331 


something like an apology for his ignorance — 

Maybe it’s because the years ain’t spared you no 
moi;e’n they have me.” 

The years have at least spared me my senses/’ 
Miss Winthrop said severely; ^^and now, Francis 
Sharp, I want to know what you mean. What 
justice are you going to do?” 

I’ve a story to tell,” Francis said, as the door 
opened and he hurried into the house and up the 
stairs, ^^and I’d like Mr. Millington and yourself 
to hear it, ma’am ; maybe you’ll help to make it 
plainer,” and, without even waiting to knock, he 
entered John’s room. 

John sat with his head resting on the table. 
That night of waiting and suspense had been long 
and wearing. At one time he had felt strongly 
tempted to go without delay to the Scotts, but 
then he had reflected that, after all, he knew 
nothing, and, whatever he hoped, could prove 
nothing. He had no right, he decided, to disturb 
their peace with any wild imaginations of his own 
brain. There was nothing for him to do save to 
wait. And so, in the strength that comes through 
prayer alone, he had waited ; but it was a pale 
and almost haggard face that his friends saw now, / 
as he raised his head and looked at them. 

With just a word or two of greeting they came 
in. and took their seats, and in a moment they 
were followed by Grandfather Graves. 


332 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


It will all come right now/^ the old man 
mumbled, in a satisfied tone, but no one heeded 
him. 

Every eye was fastened on Francis, as, standing 
so close beside John that his hand rested on his 
shoulder, he said impressively : 

kept my word; you didn’t trust me for 
nothin’; they’re waiting for you,” and he mo- 
tioned, as if pointing to some one in the distance; 

but first, I’ve got a story that I must tell you ; it 
wont be long, an’ then I’ll do justice.” 

Pie waited a moment, but no one spoke or 
stirred, and he went gravely on. 

More’ll twenty-three years ago there was a 
beautiful jilace, not a great ways from here, where 
a rich man lived. I was his coachman. I had a 
bright, pretty wife then, and grandfather here,” 
and he pointed to the old man, was her father, 
and lived there, too. We had a pleasant little 
home,” and Francis drew his hand across his eyes, 
as if the memory of that little home was still very 
vivid and very dear, and we were all very happy ; 
and at just about the same time two little babies 
came to that place. One was Susie’s an’ mine, 
an’ the other was born in the great house. That 
baby grew an’ thrived, but very soon Susie’s be- 
gan to pine, an’ afore long we laid it away in a 
little grave. That was a dreadful blow,” and 
PTancis sighed deeply, and after it fell upon her 


AT LAST, 


333 


Susie seemed changed, and grandfather an’ me 
noticed that she was often very strange. 

^^We said nothin’ about it, though, an’ we cov- 
ered it all, ’cause we didn’t think any harm 
would come from it; we thought it was just 
grief for her baby that made her so, an’ after a 
time we hoped an’ b’lievcd she would be better. 
She was very fond of the baby at the great house. 
She was alwavs trying to meet it when the nurse 
liad it out in the grounds, an’ she’d make errands 
up to the house a-purpose to see it; but that seemed 
natural, too; women is always so fond of babies. 

Well, one summer day, just twenty-three years 
ago next June, the gentleman an’ his wife went 
to the city. I drove ’em ; an’ grandfather here, 
was workin’ in the grounds a good ways from the 
house, an’ the other servants was all busv with * 
their own affairs, an’ didn’t pay no attention to 
what Susie or any one else might be doing. 

Well, some time in the course of that mornin’, 
the nurse took sick, an’ she sent for Susie to come 
an’ take care of the baby, ’cause she knew Susie 
loved it, an’ she thought it would be safe enough 
with her, for she didn’t know nothin’ at all about 
her strangeness. Slie was very sick, an’ she 
didn’t think nothin’ about the baby for several 
hours, an’ when, in the afternoon, me an’ the 
gentleman an’ his wife came back, Susie was 
gone and so was the baby. 


334 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Tliere was a terrible time then — and Fran- 
cis shuddered, as if the very recollection of that 
time was terrible. It came out about Susie’s 
strangeness, an’ the gentleman blamed grand- 
father an i^e, ’cause we’d covered it up. And 
what with the trouble about the baby, an’ the 
worry about Susie — for Susie was very dear to 
me an’ grandfather, ma’am,” and Francis looked 
sadly at Miss Winthrop — ^^grandfather had a 
shock, an’ he’s never been the same man since. 

^AVell,” Francis went on, after a little pause, 
in which he had several times wiped his eyes and 
choked back sobs, we searched everywhere for 
Susie, but it was always for Susie, always for a 
woman with a baby ; they never seemed to tliink 
of lookin’ for the baby without the woman.” 

M iss Winthrop nodded. That was where 
we made a mistake,” she ejaculated ; but no one 
noticed the interruption. 

Once more Francis drew his hand across his 
eyes, and in a slow, sad voice, continued : 

^^We found Susie at last, after a good many 
weeks, an’ then she was ravin’ crazy. She didn’t 
seem to have any memory of the baby, an’ the 
police said she’d destroyed it ; an’ after awhile the 
gentleman himself began to think so; but I never 
thought so.” 

I knew Susie loved that baby, an’ I knew 
she had a kind heart, an’ I b’lieved that when she 


AT LAJST. 


835 


found she could n^t keep it, an’ take care of it no 
longer, she’d be that cunning that she’d try to 
leave it somewhere where she’d think the folks 
would be kind to it. And so, ’cause I b’lieved 

__j 

that just as sure as I b’lieved the^ Bible, an’ 
’cause, too, I felt responsible-like for that baby, 
’cause it was lost through Susie’s strangeness, an’ 
my coverin’ of it up, I vowed that if I lived I’d 
do justice some day. 

couldn’t stay in ray place; maybe it would 
have been better if I had; but I couldn’t ; an’ I 
went off. I’ve had a hard time. It was years 
afore, in one of Susie’s sensible moments, she give 
me a clue to hlermitsville, an’ then, after I got 
the clue, I couldn’t find the folks. They’ve been 
hard to catch as birds in the woods, but it’s all 
come right at last ; and now ” — and he placed 
his hand on John’s bowed head — now, if you’ll 
come with me, we’ll go an’ do justice.” 

Without a word John started up. No one 
felt inclined to speak, but Grandfather Graves, 
with trembling steps, came to the young man’s 
side. You tell ’em,” he said solemnly, you tell 
’em, an old man says you’ve been very good to 
him, an’ him that’s good to the poor an’ the old 
will be a good son, an’ make his father an’ his 
mother glad.” 

John gave the old man’s hand a warm pres- 
sure; and then in utter silence followed Francis. 


336 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


^^Let me go first/^ Francis said, wlien at last 
tlu'y reached Mr. Scott^s house. And in an an- 
other minute he was in the room where, in an 
agony of hope and fear, Mr. and Mrs. Scott were 
awaiting his return. 

I’ve done it, ma’am,” he said gently, as he 
looked at Mrs. Scott. “Twenty-three years ago 
I vowed I’d do it. I’ve worked hard ; I’ve been 
discouraged often; but I’ve never giv’ up. And 
now I’ve brouglit him. I’ve done justice at last, 
and now I’m satisfied.” 

And with a long breath of relief, as if he were 
dropping a great weight, Francis stepped back 
and motioned to John. 

“ Go in,” he said huskily. 

With trembling ste[)s John crossed the thresli- 
old, and, as he clasped his mother in his arms, 
from a full heart came the glad thanksgiving : 
“ My mother, my own mother. Thank God ! we 
know each other at last.” 

Hours after, when they had grown calmer, and 
John and his parents were alone, Mrs. Scott 
opened the little box that Francis had brought 
her, and with tender eyes looked at the old da- 
guerrotype. 

“ How well I remember the day these pictures 
were taken,” she said, in a happy voice. “ Some- 
thing your father said as we were looking at them 
touched me, and, sitting beside him, I wrote these 


AT LAST 


337 


words/^ and she opened the slip of time-yellowed 
paper John had always preserved inside the case 
— and then, to give them additional emphasis, I 
signed them with our motto. How strange, that 
after all these years, you should bring them back 
to me,^^ and she smiled lovingly at her son. 

I do not understand yet how that picture 
came into your possession, Mr. Scott said to 
John. 

Francis gave it to me,^^ John explained. 
^^He told me a little while ago that he found it 
among Susie^s things, after she went off. He 
supposes she must have taken it, in one of her 
strange spells, when she was up at the house, and 
he kept it because he thought that it might help 
him some time to find me. When he gave it to 
me, he says his hope was, that if he failed in his 
search for you, the resemblance between the faces 
and myself might, as I grew older, give me a 
clue.^^ 

It might have done so,^^ Mr. Scott said 
thoughtfully. ^^It seems strange now that it did 
not. I remember well how surprised I was 
when Will showed me your seal. But we were 
all blind ; we took too much for granted.^^ 

Whose are these initials John asked now, 
as he took up the necklace and examined the 
clasp. 

^^Your father’s,^’ Mrs. Scott answered. 

29 


w 


338 


OUT OF THE SHADOW. 


meant that you should have his name, Frederick 
Gray Scott. But, I belie ve,^^ she added tenderly, 
‘Ghat your kind friends chose a better one for 
you, for to me truly you are the gracious gift of 
God.^’ 

“You are right,’^ Mr. Scott said gravely to his 
wife, “ and we will not change John. But Mill- 
ington — and he turned to his son — “ that must 
be dropped, I think, for you must remember that 
you are a Scott now.’^ 

“ I am glad to be,^^ John said, with manly 
pride, “ but I think I must still retain Milling- 
ton; under that name my defenceless childhood 
was sheltered, and I should feel ungrateful now 
to drop it. With your approvaF^ — and he 
looked at his father — “ I will always write my 
name, in full : John Millington Scott.^^ 

“ I am satisfied,^^ Mr. Scott said, with a won- 
derful light in his usually grave eyes. “Call 
yourself by what name you like, my boy, so long 
as you attach Scott to it. It is enough for us 
that we can call you son.’^ 

The shadows of the past, and the sunshine of 
the present, seemed to meet in the smile witli 
which Mrs. Scott listened to her husband^s words ; 
but the sunshine conquered ; and placing her 
hand on John’s she said fondly : 

“Yes, it is enough. Thank God, that after 
all these years of sadness, he has brought us ‘ Out 


AT LAST. 


339 


of the Shadow/ and satisfied us fully with his 
goodness/^ 

must tell Ruth/^ John said, the next morn- 
ing, to his mother. 

Go to her to-day/^ Mrs. Scott answered, di- 
vining with a mother^s instinct his unspoken 
wish, and tell her,’^ she added tenderly, that 
my happiness will not be quite complete, until 
my daughter comes to fill the place that is wait- 
ing for her in our home.’^ 

Great was the rejoicing at Professor Selwyn^s 
when John appeared and told his glad story. 

^^And so/^ Ruth said playfully, when in the 
shadowy twilight she and John were alone, ‘^and 
so it all ends like a story-book, and the king has 
come to his own at last.^^ 

It would be much more to the purpose for me 
to inquire when the queen will come to her own/^ 
John answered gayly. ^^Mrs. Scott — you have 
not told me yet — I hope you are pleased with 
your future prospects.” 

Yes, I am pleased,” she frankly owned. And 
then, with a ring of true pleasure in her voice, 
she added, But I am gladder still ” — 

That gladness must be accounted for,” John 
said, after waiting in vain for her to finish her 
sentence. Ruthie, if anything can make you 
gladder than this, that I have told you to-day, I 
must know what it is.” 


340 


OUT OF THE SHADOW, 


Must you ? she hesitated ; and then, through 
sunny tears, with a shy and. yet proud grace, she 
said, I am glad you gave me a chance to prove 
that it was not your name or your wealth I cared 
for, but — yourself/^ 

He did not answer her in words at once, and 
when he spoke, his voice was almost solemn in its 
earnestness. 

^^Do you think I have not remembered that?^^ 
he asked. On this glad day it has been one of my 
deepest causes for thanksgiving. Ruthie, my cup 
seems flowing over with blessings now, and the 
deepest longings of my soul are fully satisfied. But 
in the midst of all my joy for what I now possess, 
I can still thank God for the years in which those 
blessings were withheld. For all his wonderful 
leadings I thank him, but most I thank him for 
the discipline that taught me, that, with his help 
and blessing, I could work my own way through 
the world, and win for myself the independence, 
friendship and love, that makes my life so pre- 
cious.’^ 

Years of deep happiness and peace in his 
home, and of ever-increasing usefulness and 
honor in the world, were given to John Millington 
Scott. In him father and mother and wife and 
children confided, with a confidence no shadow of 
doubt ever chilled. 


A T LAST. 


341 


The friends who had aided him in his ob- 
scurity found him, in his noble manhood, an un- 
failing support. Under his protecting care Fran- 
cis Sharp lived his last, which were also his best, 
days. Comforted by him. Grandfather Graves 
passed through the valley of shadows and entered 
the light beyond. In him, as old age approached, 
Mr. Crosby found one who delighted to bear his 
burdens and lighten his cares. In and out of his 
beautiful home, his adopted parents, and brothers 
and sisters, with their children, came and went 
with the glad freedom of those who knew that a 
warm welcome always awaited them, and that the 
best that home afforded was never counted too 
good for them. 

Great wealth was his, but it was wealth of 
which he felt himself to.be but the steward, and 
which he was always ready, like a faithful servant, 
to use freely for his Master’s honor. His hand 
was always extended to raise the falling, support 
the weak and rescue the perishing. In his home, 
in the church, and in the State, men leaned on 
him and found him strong; and the secret of his 
strength can all be told in these few words: 

He trusted in the Lord, and “ the Lord was 
with him, and that which he did, the Lord made 
it to prosper.” 

THE END. 


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